


Hurt, And How We Grow Past It.

by Jinx72



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Burns, Drowning, Endgame Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Food, Food mentions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Polyamory, Self Confidence Issues, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Swearing, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, The Imagination, Unconsciousness, and then they nearly drown in the ocean, cross stitching!, deceit likes to cross stitch, i kinda describe food a bit so if that squicks you steer clear, if i missed something let me know in the comments, no remrom not in my fic no thank you, there's a big fire, there's a fair fair fair amount of swearing, there's like 3? just fyi, this is my hill and im standing on it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 22:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinx72/pseuds/Jinx72
Summary: An emotional confrontation between Roman and Deceit accidentally turns into a complete Imagination disaster, Roman gets put out of commission for the unforeseeable future, and everyone gets hurt. In the time it takes for wounds to heal, it also brings to light some other, more emotional hurts that have been bubbling just below the surface for a while, and the steps the sides can take to fix this mess.Deceit realises he's a lot more valuable than he thought, and also, he can't cross-stitch his problems away.Patton realises he is not necessarily happy with his past behaviour, especially when it comes to the "Dark Sides," but also that he can still be a good person.Logan realises that Emotions are a Thing, and struggles to deal with them whilst also making sure everyone's okay.Virgil realises everyone's a lot more precious to him than he'd let on, especially and including those who aren't supposed to be, but that's not *wrong*.Remus realises everyone's a lot more patient than he originally thought.Roman... realises that he really hates being unconscious.Or: wow everyone gets a vibe check and then they fall in love the slowburn kfjhsdflshdfg
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, intruloceitxiety, platonic DLAMPR but also w lots of romantic overlap, prinxielogicality
Comments: 107
Kudos: 510





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> kshvfgsdf hi this got away from me but buckle up buttercup! we're in for a wild ride.
> 
> \---
> 
> On a side note, I have recently discovered one of my fanfics was posted on another site without my knowledge or consent. PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK ONTO OTHER SITES, FULL STOP. If I intended for my works to be on wattpad or fanfiction.net, I would have posted them there myself. Thank you, and enjoy the fic.

Stitch after stitch. Tug the needle through, flip the ring, cross the thread, repeat. Tie off the loose end. Change colour. Repeat.  
He wasn’t sure how he ever got into cross stitching.  
He wasn’t even sure if Thomas knew how to cross-stitch. He couldn’t remembered when he started, and he was never sure how to stop. He wasn’t the fastest, or the cleverest when it came to designs, but there was a precision about planning and a mindlessness about executing the cross stich, and Deceit craved that mindlessness.

His hobby took many forms. Slogans and quotes were framed across his walls. There were a couple pieces of cutesy wee things – cartoony snakes and cute pixel art. Landscapes, too. Trees. Flowers. Faces. Logos. Sayings. Things that took his fancy.  
Or plagued his mind.  
Right now he was stitching something Patton had said. He didn’t like it; it was ingrained in his head and it wasn’t letting him sleep, because _Patton_ said he was evil and would never be anything but bad news. So he reckoned – get it out of your system, Deceit!  
And then he would burn it; watch those words go up in flames, as meaningless as the ashes they leave behind.  
He’d been staring at Patton’s words for four hours now. He was on the last one. He was ready to finish, was ready to burn this thing three hours and fifty-nine minutes ago, but he wasn’t one to rush these things. An unfortunate stickler for perfection.  
He’d had to plot it out, choose the colours and get this far. He was stitching the final punctuation mark, finally reaching the end, when there was a knock on his door.  
Too steady to be Virgil. Too punchy to be Logan. Too orderly to be Patton.  
Deceit had his heart in his throat, but invited the prince in none-the-less.

“It’s open, Roman,” he called, knotting the last thread and setting his needlework aside as the prince pushed the door open, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
“How did you know it was me?” Roman asked, closing the door behind him as he entered.  
Deceit merely shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to appear so pathetic as to have memorised their _knocks,_ of all things.  
“Magic,” he offered with an eyebrow wiggle.  
Roman rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. He folded his hands behind him, rocking on his heels awkwardly for a moment, before nodding to Deceit’s bed.  
“May I sit?” he asked.  
Deceit was not liking where this was going in the slightest.  
“Of course,” he said nonetheless, rising from his place cross-legged on the floor and taking the cross stitching with him. He left it on his desk before dragging his chair over to his bedside and sitting on his backwards so he could fold his arms across the top of the backrest. He rested his chin on his forearms. “What do you need, your highness?”  
Roman flushed in embarrassment at the title, and Deceit could see the unusual brightness in his eyes.  
Roman was upset. He’d just upset him more.  
“Sorry,” he rushed. “I-I wasn’t mocking you, Roman, I swear.”  
“Roman?” Roman asked softly. “Or _Wroammin_?”  
Deceit’s heart dropped from his throat all the way to his stomach in a heartbeat. He knew that was too far, he really did.  
“I mean, clever wordplay. I have to hand that to you. But…” Roman trailed off, and Deceit pretended not to notice how thick the prince’s voice sounded. How close he sounded to tears.  
“I… I did not intend to be malicious,” Deceit murmured, burying his face in his forearms. “It was just a-a passing thing. Like… that I know? I know how you feel, and I wanted to show I was on your side without screaming _Roman has issues!_ in the middle of the courtroom.” He peeked out at the prince, who was staring at him, face unreadable.  
Deceit hid his face again.  
“Uncalled for,” he said, already nodding in agreement with the thoughts that had been ringing around in his ears all day. “Unnecessary. Cruel. My apologies, Roman.”  
“…Thank you, Dee,” the prince whispered. “But why?”  
His voice was shaking so badly, his lip wobbling so.  
Deceit frowned in confusion.  
“Why what?”  
“Why were you trying _so hard_ to make Thomas be bad? A bad person?”

Deceit sat up in his chair.  
“You all believe I was trying to convince Thomas to be _bad_?” he repeated. He tried not to let the anger seep into his voice.  
Roman nodded slowly. The tears he’d been fighting slipped out.  
Patton’s words on the piece of cotton behind him on the desk felt like they were burning in the back of his mind.  
“I was trying to get Thomas to think of himself for once,” Deceit snapped, rubbing his face tiredly. “I was trying to make you all understand that prioritising yourself isn’t _evil_, or _despicable_. That putting others over your own wants constantly is… well, it’s self-harm, basically.”  
Roman’s eyes were wide.  
“B-Because it proves to Thomas that he doesn’t _matter_ enough, even to _himself_, to be put first,” Deceit continued, his voice rising his volume despite his attempt to keep himself calm. “And I just wanted to show you that yes! It might indeed be _selfish,_ but to _be_ selfish in itself is not. Inherently. _W__rong.”_

At Deceit’s final words, Roman buried his face in his hands, trying his very best to keep himself quiet as he couldn’t help but cry in earnest.  
Deceit watched him, face folding in sympathy before passing him the tissue box that was sitting on his desk.  
“Patton believes that to _not_ think about others all the time is to be a bad person,” he continued softly. “But even the best of people need to take chances and time for themselves. I guarantee the Leigh and Mary-Lee weren’t thinking about _Thomas’_ happiness when they invited him to their wedding. They would’ve been thinking about who they wanted there for _them_ to have the happiest time they could.”  
Roman shook his head at that, blowing his nose loudly.  
“That sounds like poppycock,” he hiccupped.  
Deceit moved his head from side to side in a wonderfully infuriating way that meant neither yes nor no.  
“You’re trying to say that Leigh and Mary-Lee having a wedding and inviting Thomas is inherently selfish on their part?”  
Deceit raised an eyebrow at the prince.  
“And you’re saying it _isn’t_?”  
“It’s a _wedding!”_ Roman cried, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a joyous celebration of two people becoming one life!”  
“It’s a miserable two-plus-hours where you sit and watch people in uncomfortable formal wear be unbearably happy until you can drown yourself in the provided champagne,” Deceit shot back. “You’re telling me you _want_ to go?”  
“No!” exclaimed Roman, his hands tearing through his hair in frustration. “But to view something so magical through such a cynical lens? I…” He shook his head again, before putting his head in his hands.  
“It’s something I hope for Thomas, at some point,” he muttered. “And if it’s so ‘selfish and  
bad,’ then why should Thomas be allowed one either?”  
Deceit sat back in his chair, struggling to think up a response, before giving up with a shrug.  
“I have no issues with weddings in general,” he said. “Again, it’s presumptuous to assume that _selfish _is automatically _bad._ It’s just what going to _this wedding_ in particular means for Thomas. For me_._”  
He wilted slightly.  
“For _you_,” he quietly tacked on.

Roman’s shoulders sagged.  
He slumped, folding in on himself, staring at the floor, silent for a moment, before speaking up.  
“We will never get an opportunity like that again,” the prince stated dully.  
Deceit blinked in shock.  
Did… did _Roman Creativity Sanders_ just say that?  
“Now, that’s… unlikely.”  
“It was god-knows-how-unlikely to get the damn thing in the first place!” Roman suddenly shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “We’re just _some guy_ who makes videos on the internet! Our legacy is _Vine, _of all things! This was our chance to build up real, actual acting prowess! A name for ourselves! A chance to build the career Thomas has always dreamed of!”  
The fight went out of him as he flopped backwards on Deceit’s bed.  
“That _I’ve_ always dreamed of,” he mumbled.  
Deceit couldn’t find the words to respond for a moment. A very long moment that stretched out on and on. He needed to find the right words, to fix this. To fix Roman. He needed the _right words_, damn it.  
“If it was so ‘unlikely’ to come in the first place and yet still happened, then it is equally as probable such an opportunity will strike again,” he whispered, staring down at his gloved hands, doing his best to pick his words very carefully. “Thomas didn’t get the role because he was, as you put it, _some guy on the internet,_ but because of his acting skills. Or, dare I say it, _your_ acting skills.”  
Roman covered his face with his hands, hiccupping quietly.  
“This is not an end, Roman,” Deceit continued, scooting his chair closer so he could put a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “There will always, _always_ be more opportunities.”

Roman looked up at him for a moment, before he let out a desperate keen and rolled to the side, unable to keep from crying even _harder._  
Deceit jolted back, withdrawing his hand like it scalded him.  
“Roman?”  
“I-I’m sorry,” Roman gasped for air, not looking at him. “But I don’t believe you. I _can’t_ believe you!”  
“What?”  
Deceit tried to hide just how broken he sounded at Roman’s outburst.  
“You… you’re lying!” Roman shouted, tugging at his hair. “You’re _Deceit_! I’ve wasted everything I’ve ever done and there’s no going back!”  
Even as the prince continued to bawl, Deceit folded in on himself, tugging his cloak around him. He thought Roman would understand. Guess he was too… _hopeful_. He _wasn’t_ just lying! He _wasn’t_ bad! He _wasn’t!_

Deceit stood up so quickly it nearly knocked his seat over. Roman didn’t stop, and Deceit refused to cry, he was not as _weak_ as that.  
He stalked over to his desk, picking up his cross-stitching and shoving it in a pocket, ignoring the scratch of the needle as it snagged across the underbelly of his arm.  
“I think you should leave,” he stated, turning his back to Roman so the prince couldn’t see how he was wrestling with emotions too. “Being here is doing no good for you.”  
“Your room’s effects on me aren’t negative,” Roman stated in quiet confusion.  
“I’m not talking about my room,” Deceit gruffly replied. He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out several more embroidered pieces of cloth, several more things they had said that he couldn’t stand being in the presence of any longer.  
“What’s that?” Roman asked, and it seemed he’d stopped crying. Deceit’s stomach twisted at how subdued he sounded.  
“Nothing important,” Deceit snapped, tucking them away before breezing over to the door. He avoided meeting Roman’s eyes, but still opened the door and gestured for the prince to take his leave.  
“May I borrow the Imagination for a little bit?” he queried. As Roman blinked in surprise at the question, so did Deceit. He hadn’t _asked_ before. Just gone and used it for what he needed. Why was he asking now?  
The look on Roman’s face was his answer. It looked… _pleased,_ almost. Like Roman was relieved someone had finally consulted him.  
“Of course,” Roman said shakily, rising to his feet. “And I shall accompany you.”  
Deceit’s heart dropped to his stomach. He didn’t want that. Really,_ really_, didn’t want that.  
But he wasn’t going to say no, because at the end of the day, he was getting real sick of upsetting people.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a big fire in this chapter, and two characters get burned badly. be careful.

The vast doors that guarded the entrance to the Imagination presented themselves in black and gold today as they walked up to them. Roman stopped to admire them, and Deceit bit back a tiny smile at the sight. The doors would tailor to whoever needed the Imagination most, and it always felt nice to be acknowledged.   
Roman side-eyed him.   
“They look good in gold,” he said.  
Deceit fought down a blush and regarded the prince with a cool eye.   
“Thank you,” he said calmly.  
He didn’t feel very calm.

He watched Roman push the doors open, the brightness already returning to the prince’s step the closer he got to home territory.   
“Come on, Deceit!” Roman called to him, and he seemed to miss how Deceit’s eyes widened in panic. He hurried over to the prince, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the others weren’t around.   
The last thing he needed was for one of them to show up now, see the tear tracks on Roman’s face, put two and two together, and blame _him_ for it.

Deceit stepped inside the doors and let Roman close them behind him. His mind was racing with possibilities, all different ways of how to avoid showing Roman what he actually was doing here. The cross-stitched words burned a hole in his pocket, mocking him.  
The Imagination was trying to shape to Deceit’s thoughts, but seeing as Deceit’s thoughts hadn’t settled yet, neither could the dreamscape around them. Half-formed things formed and swirled in a dark mist as Deceit’s mind ran scenario after scenario, almost reaching a fevered, uncontrollable tempo when   
there was a hand on his back.  
There, in the small of his back, a firm, comforting pressure.   
“Breathe, Deceit,” Roman said, and through all that, Deceit had nearly forgotten Roman was there.  
“It’s alright,” the prince continued. “Just focus on a park.”  
“But-”  
“We can change it later,” Roman added, his voice even and calm. “Don’t worry about your final product now. Focus on a park, Dee. Open space, soft green grass, maybe some trees in the distance, like a natural barrier, separating us from the outside world.”  
Deceit closed his eyes and let Roman’s words paint a picture in his mind.   
“Maybe it’s a sunny day,” Roman continued. “Maybe there are a few cottonball clouds in the sky. Perhaps there is a pond, with some ducks, or even swans, in it. Perhaps there are park benches strewn around, or picnic tables. Build me a park, my dear.”  
The more Roman talked, the clearer the image came to Deceit, until he could feel a cool breeze on his skin and warmth on his scales and Deceit opened his eyes to find that he had, in fact, successfully created a park.

It was small, pleasant, and it smelled _fresh._ Deceit found himself taking a big, deep breath in to fully appreciate it. His room always smelled musty.   
This was _beautiful_.  
“It’s lovely,” Roman said approvingly, taking Deceit by the hand and leading him forward to a park bench on the side of a perfectly round pond. “You did fantastic, Deceit.”  
As he let Roman sit him down, Deceit looked around in surprise, and a swell of pride almost choked him up.   
“_I_ made this?”  
The question was so quiet, it was nearly lost in the breeze.  
Roman squeezed his hand softly.   
“You did,” he said with a smile. “Now, are you alright?”  
Deceit couldn’t meet his eyes. Was he? He didn’t know anymore. One hand snuck into his pocket, gripping the wad of cross-stitching.   
He…  
He couldn’t _stand_ it anymore.

“I need a fire,” Deceit said hoarsely.   
A look crossed Roman’s face. Questioning, concerned, panicked.  
“Why?”  
Deceit fixed his eyes firmly on their clasped hands. “I…”  
“Deceit,” Roman stated, leaning closer to try and get Deceit to look at him. “What are you planning do to with it?”  
“Burn something,” the side stated, biting back a sarcastic little smile.  
“W-well, _duh!”_ Roman spluttered, turning red. “But…!”  
“But _what,_ Roman?” Deceit snapped, finally lifting his gaze to meet Roman’s.

The empathy there would’ve almost made him fall over, had he not been sitting down.

“I’ll get you your fire,” Roman said softly, and as Deceit tried to drop his chin, Roman gently caught his jaw in hand and tilted Deceit’s head back up with a tenderness that stole the side’s breath away. “As long as you promise me what you’re burning isn’t _you.”_  
Deceit blinked at him, before a little bark of laughter was ripped out of him.   
“Heavens, no,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on Roman’s bicep. “No, no, _no._ Not at all.”  
He didn’t like burns.   
And besides, there were far more effective ways to hurt.  
“Swear it?”  
“I swear,” Deceit said, raising a hand as if he were swearing oath in a courtroom, “that any fire conjured here or anywhere has never, is never and never shall be used to hurt, maim or injure myself or any other person.”  
Roman laughed at him, but the relief was palpable.   
“That was a little more intense than I expected, but thank you,” he smiled.  
Deceit shrugged.   
“I never do anything by halves.”

Roman glanced over to the doors, still black and gold, and then looked back to Deceit.   
“The Imagination is still responding to your control,” he said, nodding at the side. “You create what you need.”  
Deceit smiled his thanks, and went to stand, but in that moment they both realised just how close they were. Deceit still had his hand on Roman’s bicep. Roman still had his arm around Deceit, and Deceit’s hand in his.   
Roman didn’t flinch.   
However, he couldn’t dismiss how much Deceit _did_.

Deceit snatched his hand back and practically leapt to his feet, already bumbling out apologies.   
He tried to stagger back, tucking his hands into his chest, making himself as small as possible, ducking his head, gasping for air.  
He stepped back, towards the pond, a little too far.  
His left foot went back, into the muddy bank.  
He slipped.  
A cry tore itself from Deceit’s lips, but before he knew it, Roman jumped up with a shout, catching him around the waist before the side could topple backwards into the water.

Time seemed to hang in the air for a moment as the two stared at each other, eyes wide.  
Tears pooled in Deceit’s eyes, but he blinked furiously to fight them back.   
The others would have let him fall.   
Virgil probably would’ve even pushed him.  
So why was Roman even dealing with him right now? Why was he humouring him?

Deceit was gripping Roman’s jacket with such a tight grip as his mind began to race again. Roman glanced around them in alarm as the edges of the world darkened, blurred, and began to shift.  
“Deceit,” he said softly, with forced calmness. “Deceit, come back to me.”  
He helped the side upright and paused for a moment, trying to gauge whether he wanted to be held. Deceit didn’t know. He did, but he didn’t. He didn’t want his help, his _pity_… but he _desperately_ wanted comfort.  
The park he constructed was starting to melt away from beneath them, leaving them in a dusty grey, empty space that seemed to go on for infinity. The only things there were the two of them, and the towering black-and-gold doors.  
“Let me go,” Deceit bit softly, but there was no passion in it.   
He was still clinging to Roman’s jacket like a lifeline.   
“Please let me go.”  
Roman hesitated, conflict crinkling his brow.   
“Do you want that?” he asked, pulling his hands away to hover over Deceit’s sides, not touching him but ready to swoop in should he need to.  
Deceit did his best to swallow a sob.  
“Yes,” he lied. “Let me go.”  
Roman stepped back, and Deceit forced himself to let his grip drop.   
He hugged himself, avoiding eye-contact as Roman watched him closely.   
Deceit took a breath to steady himself, squeezed his eyes closed tightly, and forced himself to focus.  
The Imagination started to shift yet again.

This time, it was a large, empty field. It was dry, like it was the end of a long scorching summer. The grass was golden brown and brittle, crunching underfoot as Deceit turned and began to walk away from the prince, towards the centre, where great, dark logs were stacking inside a ring of stones each the size of his head. The earth around the unlit bonfire was bare and packed, reducing the risk of the fire spreading. The sky was a flat, discomforting blue, almost unnerving in its lack of dimension. Roman looked up to the sky with a frown, and he realised that the light was bearing down from every direction, and that there was no sun.   
He looked down, and he had no shadow.  
No wonder it was so _off_.  
The blandness of the world set Roman on edge. The blinding, too-hot brightness of it. But Deceit didn’t look at him. He just flicked his wrist and set the bonfire ablaze.

Roman jumped back, instinctually summoning his sword to hand as the giant stack of wood went up in flames far too quickly for his liking.   
Even Deceit flinched, and he murmured, “This is new…” quietly to himself.   
Roman glanced at the doors again nervously, but they hadn’t changed.

He was Creativity. He had ultimate control over the Imagination, but it always took a great amount of effort to forcibly wrest control from another side when the Imagination was aligned to them. He was preparing himself to do so, but he certainly wasn’t keen to.  
Even from here, the heat was scalding. He frowned at how close Deceit was to the bonfire. It must be unbearable.  
Deceit didn’t move away, even as a thick cloud of smoke washed over him and through the air. He coughed harshly, summoning a wet cloth and holding over his mouth and nose as a make-shift mask.   
“Deceit!”   
He heard Roman call to him, before the prince began to cough as well. He turned with watering eyes to see Roman doubled over, hacking into his sash which he had pulled over his face as well, leaning heavily on his sword, stabbed upright in the dirt.   
“Deceit,” Roman called again, but his voice sounded far raspier.  
Behind them, the doors of the Imagination – which had been leaking a little smoke – flew open with a bang.   
Deceit flinched, the fire flaring upwards into the sky as he swung around to see  
Virgil, standing between the doors staring straight at him. Logan and Patton stood behind him, with varying looks of concern, confusion, and _distrust_.  
“Deceit!”  
The scream from Roman drew attention to the heat licking at his cloak, and Deceit didn’t need to check to know that _oh god, he was on fire.  
He was on fire!_

He flailed with a shriek, hands fumbling with the clasp of his cloak, trying to shake it off before the flames spread, but he didn’t move any farther away.  
“Roman, get out of there!” Virgil shouted, beginning to run towards them.  
Roman drew himself upright and tied his sash around his face like a bandanna. “Stay back!” he commanded, pointing imperiously at Virgil, before running in, towards Deceit.  
“_Roman_!”  
“Get away from the flames, you daft snake!”  
Deceit was screaming and he was shaking and he was _hurting, _but he didn’t move away.  
“You promised!”  
Huh. He _did_ promise that no one would get hurt.   
Guess he lied.

He was good at that.

Still, he could not leave this place with these things in his pocket intact, taunting him, there for the others to see how hopeless he was. He yanked them out and threw them haphazardly towards the flames before beginning to stagger away.  
“Roman, _do something!”_  
It sounded like Logan screaming. Deceit frowned through the pain. It wasn’t _Roman’s_ fault! It was his!  
He deserved this. He was sure of it.

“Deceit,” Roman called again, and he reached out and clasped Deceit’s hands in his and tugging him away from the fire. “Deceit, give me control.”  
Deceit couldn’t think straight. Didn’t understand what Roman was talking about as the flames licked up his legs and back. Soot and ash stained the prince’s pristine jacket, and speckles of black rested on his face, dotting his cheeks and lips and eyelashes. If it weren’t for the imminent death that had spread to the dry grass around them and caught on like… well, a wildfire, Deceit would almost’ve called him _cute._  
Roman clasped his hands tightly, drew him closer and closed his eyes, effort creasing his brow. The fire spread, the fire burned, and it felt like it was consuming them both. Screaming voices and roaring fire filled his ears.  
And all of a sudden, something felt like it was yanked out of Deceit’s chest.  
Metaphorically, of course. It felt like an entire sense was just… removed. Tugged straight out of him leaving an empty void.  
All of a sudden, the flames meant nothing to him.

There was a great roar, but not of fire. An enormous wave of water ten stories tall replaced the horizon and crashed over the bonfire, crashed over the two of them and the others in the doorway. The entire Imagination was a grey-green-blue ocean in a matter of seconds.  
Deceit fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok Deceit nearly drowns so be careful again :( sorry  
also apologies for the ending of this one >:)

The crush of cold water didn’t let him stay unconscious for long. He groggily opened his eyes, wondering about the peculiar weightlessness, when he watched air bubbles escape his lips.  
Air bubbles?  
Oh.  
_Oh no._  
Deceit tried to look around, but the water was so _deep_, it was so _dark_.   
Where were the others? Where was Roman?   
He flailed, trying to feel for bodies in the water around him but the insistent burn of his lungs began to drive him upwards.  
Could sides die? He was really pushing the limits to find out.  
Deceit kicked up, but his clothing was heavy and waterlogged. He went to brush some of it back and it crumbled, brittle and charred, and drifted off, disintegrating, into the depths.  
Deceit watched it float away, already feeling sick at the thought of what his _skin_ might look like, if that’s what happened to his _clothes_.  
_Air.  
_Right, right; of course. He kept getting distracted.

He kicked up again, wishing with all his heart he had more upper body strength as his shoulders ached unbearably with every stroke.  
_He wasn’t going to make it._  
He could tell that now.  
_Oh well,_ he thought glumly. _It’s not like I was wanted in the first place.  
_The light breaking through the water’s surface was, whilst beautiful, still way too far off for him to reach in time. Deceit went limp, letting his own natural buoyancy take the reins. Hopefully, in the least, they’d find his body.  
A nasty little thought struck him.  
_Roman could get rid of the water, if he wanted, couldn’t he?_  
In that case, Roman just mustn’t want _him_.  
Despite the sting of that realisation, Deceit idly shrugged to himself. He couldn’t blame him, really. And besides, you win some, you lose some, he supposed.   
He let more air bubbles escape his lips, watching them rocket up to the surface, catching the light. At least it was oddly calm, and beautiful.   
All he could hear was the wash of water in his ears.   
He sighed to himself as he continued to drift, watching more bubbles race away.   
It was beginning to go dim. He let himself suck in his first lungful of water, and found that he absolutely hated it, trying to choke it back out. It was, however, _way_ too late to change his mind.

A shadow blocked his sunlight. He looked up to see a figure diving towards him, hands outstretched. He couldn’t make them out. But wiry hands latched onto his and pulled him upwards.  
He couldn’t stay awake long enough to find out who it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil surfaced with a gasp, one arm wrapped around Deceit’s waist tightly he tread water. The other side’s head lolled limply as they breached the surface.   
“Shit,” he cried. “Oh, _shit. _Deceit?”  
No response.  
“Oh, no_, no no,”_ Virgil growled in desperation. “You don’t get to burn alive and then drown on me, you absolute _dickhead_.”  
No response.   
Virgil began to swim, one hand still firmly tucked around Deceit’s middle as he swam towards the shore.   
He had surfaced in time to watch this endless ocean morph into a beautiful lagoon as Roman clung to a piece of driftwood, trying to gather his bearings as he slung Patton’s body over his makeshift raft, wiping his nose repeatedly with his sleeve, which might’ve been getting redder and redder, if Virgil’d taken the time notice. Logan had surfaced a moment later, hacking up sea water. There were no barbs or accusations. There was no screams or anger. Only thinly veiled panic and a silent vow to work together.   
“Deceit,” Roman had croaked, the smoke and the salt wreaking havoc on his voice. “Where’s Deceit?”  
Virgil was going to say he didn’t care, but he was getting sick of lying.   
_Damn_ that snake and their rocky relationship. He’d rather just be able to flat-out hate him like he was supposed to but there he was, combing the waters for a sign of life, before he’d seen the bubbles breaching the waters’ surface and dove down in a panic to find a drowning snake.

He was going to be perfectly honest. The look of utter nihilism in Deceit’s eyes had frightened him. The side had already given up. So when he dragged Deceit’s body onto the sand and he _still_ hadn’t moved?  
Virgil was beginning to freak the _fuck_ out.

Logan ushered him aside firmly, before kneeling over Deceit’s lifeless body and beginning to do CPR. An anxious Virgil, a frantic Roman and a dazed Patton watched him work, watched Deceit splutter back to life like an old car after a mechanic’s had their go at it.   
Logan then quickly rolled Deceit into the recovery position as the side began to vomit water, choking and wheezing and gagging onto the sand before collapsing back, chest heaving as he tried to fixate on the sky.   
“Deceit,” Logan said, and his voice sounded calm but the set of his shoulders gave away just how tense he was. “Deceit, can you hear me?”  
Deceit blinked up at the sky for a moment, before slowly turning his head and squinting at Logan.  
“…Logic?”  
His voice was worn and thin, but it was there.  
Logan nodded with a barely-held-back relieved smile.  
“Deceit!” Roman called, stumbling over to him and falling to his knees beside him. “Thank the gods, you’re alive!”  
Deceit stared up at him in confusion. “Why are you happy?” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m not supposed to be here.”  
Roman shook his head frantically and threw his arms around the side. Deceit hissed in pain and tensed, throwing back his head. A tiny pained groan escaped him.  
“The burns…” Logan muttered in realisation.   
“The burns,” Deceit grumbled to himself. “Why did it go so out of control? Stupid Deceit.”  
“It happens,” Roman soothed raspily. “I’d be lying if I told you something like that has never happened to me before.”  
Virgil, who had been biting his nails, glared at the prince. “Really?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you say? Were you hurt?”  
Roman shrugged noncommittally in a way that definitely meant he got hurt.  
“The sand must be amazing for infection,” Deceit mumbled, and Roman looked down to see the side in his arms’ face twisted and tearing up.  
“He’s right,” Logan said, his voice shaking despite how he ignoring how it was doing so. “Let’s get back into the commons.”

Roman conjured a stretcher that _no, he was not allowed to carry!_ seeing as he had burns all up and down his arms and shoulders. Logan and Virgil ferried Deceit back between them into the mindscape as Roman led Patton back.   
Patton was plodding along, clutching a handful of white scraps of fabric that were charred and crumbling on the edges, staring down at them in a sort of removed confusion. Roman thought they looked familiar, but decided, for the time being, to pay them no mind.  
Virgil was in the front, his eyes on the white and red doors of the exit of the imagination, fixed there as he listened to Deceit’s weak protests as they carted him back. He told himself to dismiss it as pain-drunk ramblings, but he knew the side too well for that.  
“Guys, seriously,” Deceit slurred, trying to sit up. “I can walk. Don’t waste your energy carrying me. Seriously.”  
“Lie back down, Deceit,” Logan ordered, frowning down at him sternly, “or I _will_ tie you down.”  
That shut him up, but the tiny whimpers of pain with every shift and adjustment was beginning to melt the carefully constructed ice around Virgil’s heart.  
“Goddamn it,” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth. “God _fucking_ damn it.”  
“Language,” Patton said weakly, blinking owlishly. The first thing he’d said since Roman pulled him out of the water.  
“You okay, Pat?” Roman asked softly, gently bumping hips.  
Patton blinked again, but smiled widely at him nonetheless.   
“Yep!”  
Patton stumbled through a dip in the sand, and Roman caught him, sucking in a breath as Patton’s hands clamped down on his wrists to steady himself, on his burnt skin.  
“Oh!” Patton gasped in horror, “I’m so sorry, Roman!”  
Roman shrugged nonchalantly.   
“No big,” he said airily.  
Virgil eyed him distrustfully. It seemed very much a yes big, if the way Roman was swaying on his feet was telling.

The living room morphed into an emergency room as Logan sent Virgil to fetch the textbooks filled with Thomas’ medical knowledge from his room. It looked like a hospital when Virgil got back. It _smelt_ like a hospital.  
Virgil _hated_ hospitals.  
He hated what happened in hospitals.   
People _died_ in hospitals.  
Still, Logan asked him for help because Roman was too injured and Patton, it seemed, had gone into shock, so he put out of mind how badly his hands were shaking.   
Deceit was looking pale and broken on the surface in front of him.   
His hands were shaking. Everything was blurry.  
“Virgil,” said a voice.   
His head snapped up to see Logan standing in front of him, hands outstretched in silent offering. Virgil accepted that offering, latching on to Logan with an icy grip.  
“Breathe for me, Virgil,” Logan said softly. “It will be alright. They will be alright. You can go to your room if you want.”  
“You need help,” Virgil mumbled, his grip tightening.  
“Look after Patton for me,” Logan asked without really asking, guiding him over to the side staring at the carpet, with a blanket thrown over his shoulders, wringing white fabric scraps in his hands. His gaze was unnervingly vacant, but also conflicted. Virgil slowly sat next to him, quietly attending to him as Logan swiftly treated and bandaged Roman, before beginning to work on Deceit.

In the painful haze of being rolled over, poked, prodded, covered in things that might’ve been balms and salves which stung and burned his raw skin, Deceit lost track of time. He was hissing and mewling into the bed below him, drifting in and out of consciousness, quietly begging over and over for it to _stop_, but it just didn’t.   
He blindly reached out for something, _anything_, to comfort him.  
A hand, a cold hand, got placed on his. He latched onto it, squeezing it tightly as tears leaked out, _finally_ leaked out.   
“It hurts!” he gasped. “It hurts so much.”  
“Shh, I know, I know,” the person replied, and a second cold hand smoothed his hair back out of his face. “Logan’s nearly done, Dee.”  
His addled mind started to put hands and voices and faces to names.  
“Anx,” he cried, desperate, voice rasping painfully. “Anx, I don’t want it to hurt anymore.”  
Anxiety sucked in a sharp breath.   
“I know,” he said softly, his spare hand smoothing his hair again, and he sounded _really upset_. Deceit upset him. “You’re doing so good, Dee, it’s nearly over.”  
“I’m not good!” Deceit cried, burying his face in the pillow as his grip on Anxiety’s hand tightened. “I’m not doing any good! They all said so, Anx.”  
Anxiety’s breathing hitched.   
“Deceit,” he said softly, and worriedly. But Anxiety always sounded worried. “What year do-”  
“Don’t confuse him, Virgil,” another voice interrupted.   
It sounded strained, stressed, and Deceit felt bad he’d upset that voice too, but also? It was so familiar. He could almost place it.  
“W-where am I?” he asked in a quavering voice.  
“In the living room,” Anxiety replied.  
“Smells like a hospital,” Deceit stated, letting his face drop into the pillow as the pain flared up. “Anx, what…”  
It was so confusing. He started crying even harder as his senses overwhelmed him.  
“Don’t leave me,” he sobbed, because that was all he could think of. “Please don’t leave me, Anx.”  
“Of course not,” Anxiety replied, sounding choked up with emotion. “I’m here, Dee. You’re going to be okay.”  
He let his eyes close, and he drifted off into unconsciousness with Anxiety’s hand still tight in his grasp.


	5. Chapter 5

Virgil was staring at the limp side in front of him, silent tears streaking down his face as Logan finished wrapping up the last of the bandages. Deceit’s grip on his hand was too tight for him to shake loose of, and even he couldn’t find it in himself to be so cruel. Not today, at least.   
He felt _exhausted_.

Logan hovered for a moment, hands empty, and he wondered for a hollow moment what he was supposed to do now.   
Roman sat there, now dopey from the strong pain relief Logan had given him. Patton was shivering in his blanket, but he seemed a little more aware. Deceit was still firmly passed out, lying on his front with his hand on Virgil’s. And Vigil seemed completely out of it, quietly crying as memories drowned him.  
Logan stood there for an empty moment, wondering what to do.  
Then he kicked himself into gear with a simple mental command.   
_Clean up._  
He could do that.

He tried to be as quiet as he could around Virgil. Patton watched him scurry back and forth, before rising to his feet to help him.  
“Patton, sit down,” Logan told him briskly, but he couldn’t mask the concern he was feeling completely. “You’re still unwell.”  
“I’m fine,” Patton said dismissively, and he really wasn’t, because he was still shaking far too much for Logan’s liking. “Let me help you.”  
Unfortunately for Logan, Patton was persistent and convincing, and soon he was tailing behind Logan as he put things away, slotting things back on shelves and in drawers, until the living room was beginning to look like a living room again.   
Roman had fallen asleep in an armchair, his face gaunt and hollow in the late afternoon sun. Deceit was now lying on his stomach on the couch, with Virgil still next to him in a pulled-up chair, who started when the two of them came back in the room.  
“Virgil?” Logan asked softly, coming over and placing his hands on the side’s shoulders, trying to rub away some of the tension there. “Are you okay?”  
Virgil stared up at him, before turning back to Deceit.   
“No,” he mumbled, and the way his voice cracked was painfully raw and genuine. “I’m trying my best to hate him like you all do, but I can’t help myself. H-He’s hurting so bad, Logan.”  
Logan flinched.   
“Hate him?” he echoed. “I don’t _hate_ him, Virgil. Deceit is a very useful side.”  
Patton shifted uncomfortably on his feet.   
Logan’s attention was on him in a heartbeat.   
“Are you alright, Patton?” he immediately queried. “Do you need to sit?”  
Patton bit his lip, looking on the verge of tears, but he nodded. He still had clutched in his hands those strange white scraps of fabric, that now Logan looked closer, appeared to have cross stitching, of all things, on them.   
“What are those?” he asked as he guided Patton to one of the dining room chairs.   
One of Patton’s tears rolled down his cheek silently, and the side wordlessly spread them out on the table before them.   
“I-I think they’re _his, _Lo,” he whispered, and Logan frowned at Patton for a moment, before his eyes scanned over the scraps and he had to grab the back of the chair for support.  
Virgil came over after a moment, and he clapped his hands over his mouth in horror.

Each one was a different colour, matching who said it, with ornate patterns stitched around it. Evil, horrible, no good, awful, ugly, snake-face, irredeemable, manipulative, cruel, evil, evil, evil, liar, _liar_, **_liar_**_.  
_“Why…?”  
“He threw these into the fire,” Logan realised with a jolt, tracing a finger over the crumbling, charred edges as his mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. “These are what he tried to throw away. He must’ve created the fire for that purpose.”  
Virgil’s eyes were locked onto one stitched in purple. And then they darted to another. And another. And _another_.   
“Virgil?” Logan asked quietly.  
Virgil didn’t seemed to hear him. He just backed away slowly from the table, flinching when his back hit the wall, and a sob finally tore its way out of him.   
“Virgil,” Logan repeated softly, advancing towards him and crouching down as Virgil slid down the wall to the floor.   
“I hate it, Lo,” Virgil gasped, folding his head in his arms. “I-I can’t do it.”  
“I know,” Logan said sadly, offering his open arms.   
Virgil stared up at him for a moment, wet eyes shining, before he leant forward, letting Logan’s arms close around him.  
Patton still sat there, transfixed by the words on the table in front of him.  
“I didn’t think…” he started, his voice hoarse, “…that my words would mean so much.”  
He spread the fabric flat, wincing as more of it crumbled away.   
“Look at how many of them are mine.” He bit his lip. “Look at what I said.”  
Logan gently let Virgil go after a moment, and stood, joining Patton to read it. And he felt a jolt of something in his gut, something that felt like _disgust._  
His eyes flitted over what _he_ had said as well.   
There was significantly less than Patton, and Virgil, and yet, more than Roman. But still, _any_ was too much for his liking.  
“We bullied him,” Logan whispered, and that statement shocked a louder sound out of Patton.   
“We flat-out, completely _bullied_ him.”  
“When he wakes up,” Patton swore, raising one hand in the air like he was swearing oath in a courtroom, despite his tears, “I am going to look after him, nurse him, help him, and be the friend I should have been.”  
His shoulders sagged.  
“I’m _despicable_,” he muttered.   
Logan blinked at the back of Patton’s head.  
“I’m sorry, what?”   
Patton put his head in his hands, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed his eyes.   
“I’m utterly _horridible.”  
_“Okay, _that_ one’s not a word.”  
Patton tittered quietly to himself, but it petered out pretty quickly.   
“How do you think so, Patton?” Logan asked softly, watching him carefully.   
“How can I _not_ be, when _my_ words have caused _this?”_ Patton cried, leaping to his feet and stumbling as the headrush hit him. “I didn’t think _anyone _takes what _I_ say seriously, least of all _him. _I… I-I _did_ this to him! _I _did this to him, Logan!”  
“This was an accident,” Logan argued, catching Patton’s hands in his firmly, latching on tight as Patton tried to tear his hands away.   
“An accident that _wouldn’t have even happened_ if I’d had half a brain!” Patton snapped, and with that, he managed to wrench his hands back and stormed away, sobbing openly, hugging himself tightly, nails scratching at his arms as he bolted up the stairs.

Logan stared after him in muted horror, because he had _no idea_ how to deal with that.

He heard a sob escape Virgil, and he turned to see Virgil trying to muffle his crying into his elbow as he clung to Deceit’s hand like a lifeline.  
“He’s so _cold_, Lo,” Virgil stammered. “I-I…”  
Logan’s eyes landed on Roman, who’s face was twisting in the way that someone who is trapped in a nightmare and can’t wake up no matter how much they try does.   
He half debated going and getting another pair of, admittedly unstable, hands to help him with. But even the thought of Remus down here twisted his gut. This entire scenario was unstable enough already.  
Virgil was looking up at him, and Logan could feel the anxiety almost literally radiating off him. “I’m so scared he’s dead,” he whispered. “We don’t know if we can die, and I… I…”  
Logan crossed the room swiftly and carefully tilted Deceit’s head so he could place two fingers on the side of his throat. He waited, staring into space as he waiting for the beat of Deceit’s heart.  
_Thump.  
_Virgil could read the relief on his face.  
_Thump._  
Logan checked his watch, counting the ticks of the quivering second hand compared to the weak heartbeats. A shadow of worry crossed his face.  
“His heartbeat is… quite slow,” Logan noted, withdrawing his fingers and carefully moving Deceit’s head to the most comfortable position he could find. “Which is… worrisome, to say the least.”  
“Dee’s cold-blooded,” Virgil volunteered. “Part of being half-snake or something. Would that impact it?”  
“It would,” Logan confirmed, and honestly, it was relieving to hear there were multiple factors because then maybe Deceit really wasn’t dying. “We need to warm him, probably from the inside out if it’s something akin to hypothermia. We don’t need him going into shock on us. I think I know a trick for this.”

He would have to deal with Patton, and Roman, later.  
Right now, he got Virgil to help him.   
“Go and find a big pot, and heat some water,” he instructed. “Doesn’t need to be boiling, but it does need to be hot.”  
Virgil was already moving, finding the biggest pot they had and filling it with water.   
“Half-full will do,” Logan tacked on as he strode to the hall cupboard, digging out what he needed. “It won’t take as long, that way.”  
Virgil repeated the instructions under his breath on loop as Logan heaved an oxygen cannister out from the cupboard.   
Virgil stared in disbelief.  
“What?” Logan queried.  
“Why do we have one of _those?”_  
Logan’s shoulders tensed defensively. “I thought it might come in handy,” he mumbled. “A-and it will!”  
Virgil closed his eyes and nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I trust you.”

Soon they were set up with the pot of hot water and the oxygen cannister, and Logan attached a rubber hose to the cannister, and to Virgil’s surprised, coiled a good section of the hose up and put it _in_ the pot. He then attached the mask, and put it over Deceit’s face.   
“W-what…?”  
“For someone suffering hypothermia,” Logan started to explain, “if you warm them from the outside in, they’ll go into shock and die. So you must warm them from the inside out. By having the oxygen tube in the heated liquid, it warms the air itself up so that Deceit will be, effectively and literally, warmed from the inside out.”  
He blinked at Virgil’s awed expression.  
“It’s a little trick Thomas was told some years ago,” Logan flushed, embarrassed. “You remember his uncle, who used to be an ambulance officer? I retained it because it seemed useful.”  
“You’re a genius.”  
Logan’s eyes fell down to Deceit’s limp face.  
“So I’ve heard,” he said quietly. “I can handle Deceit from here, would you mind checking on Patton for me?”  
Virgil stiffened.  
“Unless you’d rather stay with Deceit,” Logan immediately swapped out. “I can… well, I can try, with Patton.”  
“I-I’d rather…” Virgil gestured at the oxygen mask.   
“Very well,” Logan nodded.   
He let Virgil take his spot, ran him through some basic instructions and told him to shout if anything went weird.  
He did a last-minute checkup on Roman, who had relaxed again, before swiftly mounting the stairs and ignoring how his heart was figuratively in his throat as he headed to Patton’s room.


	6. Chapter 6

He could hear the sobbing through the door.  
“…Patton?” he called softly, knocking as lightly as he dared.  
The crying hushed for a moment, before, “Go away, Logan.”  
Logan snatched back his hand, a wave of disappointment hitting him. Of course Patton wouldn’t want _him_ in this moment. If only Roman was awake, maybe he could talk to him. They were better at _feelings_ than him.  
“Patton,” he made himself repeat, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “You’re not okay.”  
He heard Patton laugh bitterly at that, and he couldn’t help but take a step back.  
“What gave it away?” came Patton’s voice.  
Logan was backing away before he could catch himself.  
“Deceit is going to be fine,” he said, almost more to himself. “Roman is going to be fine. This is all one big, horrible, emotionally charged, illogical misunderstanding.”  
Logan blinked a few times, and tried to keep his breathing even.  
“You know, you’re _allowed_ to feel bad,” he heard himself say. “You don’t need to hide away when you are. We would not be adequate friends if we only kept you around when you make us feel good.”  
There was a silence from behind Patton’s door.  
It felt surprised. Shocked, even.  
“A-and I apologise if we made it seem that way,” Logan continued, raking his hands through his hair and trying to ignore how his voice shook dreadfully. “We _all_ made mistakes when it came to Deceit. We all made mistakes when it came to Virgil. We all make constant and continuous mistakes when it comes to each _other_, Patton, and it will not be over today. That is absolutely unrealistic. But _acknowledging_ that it is not okay is the first step, okay, Patton? And then we can figure out what has gone sour, emotionally, and build our relationships from the bottom up with stronger figurative foundations.”  
He sucked in a breath, all of a sudden acutely aware that Patton had not interjected once. Acutely aware he was rambling on about things he didn’t understand.  
Acutely aware he had _no idea what he was doing._  
“Patton,” he said, and the way his voice cracked, it sounded like he was begging. “I… You know how this works. You know how _all_ this is supposed to work. I can’t do this.”  
Logan’s lip was wobbling in a way he despised.  
“I need your help, Patton,” he said to Patton’s closed door. “We all do. You’re the heart… pun intended, I suppose, if it makes you happy, of this family. And I’m not stupid enough to try to ignore that.”  
Patton’s door opened, and Logan could barely catch sight of Patton before his vision was engulfed in _blue_ as Patton all but charged him and swept him up in the tightest, most desperate hug he’d ever been on the receiving end of.  
Instead of reeling back, Logan found himself collapsing into it, arms wrapping around Patton’s back, burying his face in the crook of Patton’s neck, gasping for breath as Patton clung to him tightly.  
“I’m sorry,” he choked out, and felt the sharp intake of breath beneath him as Patton gasped.  
“No, no, _no, _Lo-gi Bear,” Patton rushed, turning his head and placing a most gentle little kiss into Logan’s temple. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have abandoned you down there. I shouldn’t’ve screamed at you. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that at all.”  
“I’m sorry you felt you had to hold onto all that,” Logan retorted, hands fisting Patton’s shirt as he tried to work the jitters out of his limbs. “I’m sorry you had to-”  
“Shh,” Patton interrupted him. “You don’t need to apologise, Logan. You’ve done nothing wrong.”  
Logan froze for a second, before he started shaking. He started shaking badly and he couldn’t stop. He felt something soak Patton’s shirt and he pulled back in confusion only to realise it was _tears._  
Logic was crying.  
That was… _odd_.  
Patton blinked away his own tears, and gently rubbed his thumb under Logan’s eyes.  
“It’s okay, dear,” he whispered. “You’re doing amazing.”  
Logan stared at him in mute shock.  
“You’re doing wonderfully, and we don’t tell you that enough.”  
The slightest hint of a shaky smile touched at Logan’s lips, and the softness of it was enough to make Patton melt.  
“I’m sorry for taking out my anger on you,” he whispered, rubbing the last of Logan’s tears away. “It wasn’t fair.”  
“You’re frustrated and upset,” Logan said quietly. “I… understand how that feels.”  
Patton smiled at that, because he could take a guess at just how hard it must be for Logan to empathise with him.  
Logan put his hand over Patton’s for a moment, like he was letting himself bask in the affection, before lightly pulling Patton’s hand away from his face.  
“I need to go back downstairs,” he told Morality softly. “I left Virgil in charge of Deceit and Roman. I’d like to check everything’s okay. Are you okay enough to come downstairs, or do you still need some alone time?”  
Patton blinked at the question, brow creasing in almost _confusion._  
“I’ll be fine,” he told Logan with a smile. “Let’s go check on them!”  
“Patton,” Logan stopped Patton from moving away with a hand on Patton’s chest, over his heart, and in that moment, Patton hoped Logan couldn’t feel how his heartbeat raced at the touch.  
“Yeah?”  
The word was soft out of his mouth.  
“Stop thinking about _them_ for a moment,” Logan hushed, and his brown eyes were so imploringly warm that it froze the argument right on Patton’s tongue. “I can tell you that Virgil will be fine. Roman and Deceit _will be fine._ I’m asking you to think about _you_. Do you need me to stay up here with you? Do you need a nap? Do you want a bath or something of that ilk? I do _not_ want you putting off looking after yourself for another moment.”  
Patton frowned.  
“I’ll be fine,” he repeated, perplexed. “I don’t… I don’t want to be selfish.”  
Logan’s lips twitched in a hint of an amused smile.  
“You know,” he started, surprisingly conversational, “it’s taken me a while to understand what Deceit was trying to tell you all, but I think I do now.”  
Patton raised an eyebrow at the change of topic.  
“And what did he mean?” he asked.  
“After all that, what he meant was that there is nothing _wrong_ with being selfish,” Logan stated, and he was still pressing his hand against Patton’s chest most tenderly. “If ensuring you’re okay _first_ is selfish, then you’re allowed to be so. It’s like the rules of helping someone in an emergency.”  
Patton’s face softened as Logan began to explain, began to talk him through it, began to find the right words to help Patton understand, to make Patton feel accounted for, and Patton’s heart swelled with such _love_ he didn’t know what to do with himself.  
“The first thing you do is check for immediate hazards to yourself. Then you ensure that bystanders are safe. The _last_ thing you do is ensure the safety of the one who is hurt,” Logan continued, his free hand finding Patton’s other in an almost subconscious move. “You can’t help them if you keel over first, or incapacitate yourself in the process of getting to them. And if that is selfish, then so be it. To me? It is simply common sense.”  
Patton giggled a little at that last bit, but Logan’s words twisted something in his chest, and his gaze dropped to the floor.  
“I guess…”  
“You guess?” Logan echoed, ducking down a little to catch Patton’s eye again, “or… you know that I’m right?”  
Patton laughed again, at the satisfied little half-smile tugging at Logan’s lips.  
“You’re right,” he conceded, putting his hand over the hand that was still on his chest, capturing that warmth to ensure himself that it was still there. “You’re right, Logan. …_Deceit_ was right.”  
Logan actually smiled at that, a full smile.  
“You got there in the end,” he stated, and Patton nearly teared up at the surprising warmth in Logan’s voice. “I am so proud of you, Patton. You understand.”  
Patton’s gaze fell from Logan’s face, and he chose to focus on the knot of his tie.  
“Yeah,” he whispered back, voice thick. “I guess I do.”  
Logan pulled back his hand off Patton’s chest gently, and Patton let him, and he went to drop Logan’s other hand, but Logan shook his head, squeezing his hand reassuringly.  
“So let me ask again, now that we have recontextualised the question,” he said. “Do you need more time to ensure your wellbeing?”  
Patton laughed a shaky little laugh, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and taking a deep breath.  
“I’m okay,” he said softly, genuinely. “Honest, I am. Thank you, Logan. It… It just means a lot to know someone’s actually listening.”  
“I know it does,” Logan smiled softly, gently squeezing Patton’s hand again. “And I am going to strive to get better at listening. Are you prepared to come help me?”  
Patton squeezed Logan’s hand back with the brightest smile he could muster.  
“You bet," he agreed. “Let’s go, Sherlock.”  
Logan’s lip twisted in pleased amusement.  
“Very well, Watson,” he quipped back. “Let’s go.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is introduced into the story proper in this chapter, but he chill :P

As they descended the stairs, still hand-in-hand, Virgil looked up at them, and smiled.   
“He’s so much warmer,” he said, and the relief was palpable on his face. “B-but the water’s going cold.”  
“Splendid,” Logan said, leading Patton down the stairs and across to Virgil and Deceit. “We probably don’t need the oxygen anymore. But we do need to keep him warm, and if Deceit is cold-blooded, he will not produce his own body heat.”  
“I have an electric blanket,” Patton volunteered immediately. “Would that help?”  
“That would suffice,” Logan nodded. “Virgil, you have a heater in your room, yes?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Virgil said, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll bring an extension cord as well.”  
“That would be very wise,” Logan said supportively, shooing them with a flippant gesture. “I shall put this gear away.”  
The two emotional sides rushed back up the stairs. They’d be back in a minute, maybe two.  
Logan shut off the oxygen, packed up the equipment, and carefully checked all of Deceit’s wounds. The nature of the mindscape led to injuries healing at more greatly accelerated speed than real life. One time, Roman came back from an adventure with a broken arm, and it had fully healed by the next evening.   
He was very glad to see that it had all healed over, even in the couple hours they’d been caring for them. The skin was still very pink and tender, but at this rate? Deceit might be healed by the time night fell, if not tomorrow morning.   
That’d be good for Roman, too.  
_Roman._  
Logan jolted upright, immediately turning on his heel. In all that, he’d put Roman completely out of mind.  
_And how _good_ you are at that,_ a voice in the back of his head whispered at him.  
Logan shook his head firmly and immediately crossed the room, kneeling down beside the armchair and quickly checking all of Roman’s burns as well.  
Roman had escaped the flames a little better than Deceit had; he was in far better condition. But then, on the other hand, Logan had seen Roman, when they’d surfaced out of the ocean the prince had panickedly conjured, wiping away blood from a heavily bleeding nose with the back of his wrist. He’d seen how the prince had been swaying on his feet the whole way back.  
Overexertion.   
Logan studied Roman’s face, brow creasing in concern. He wasn’t going to feign intelligence, here. He wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with this.  
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and Logan rose to his feet, turning and about to greet Virgil and Patton on their return.  
His hands fell to his sides as he and Remus stared at each other, frozen in place.  
“I…” Remus stared, eyes falling on Roman, on Deceit, jaw working as he tried to find the words.  
“What the _fuck_ did I miss?”

“Remus,” Logan said formally, folding his hands behind his back to hide how they were shaking. He had not looked forward to this possibility.  
“What the _fuck_ happened, Professor Specs?” Remus demanded, storming down the last of the stairs – right up to him, and Logan refused to be scared but he couldn’t help but take a step back as Remus grabbed his tie and dragged him forward. “What did you do to them?”  
“It was not me,” Logan said calmly, as calmly as he could as Remus’ fingers twitched in a way that threatened immediate bodily harm if Logan’s explanation displeased him. “It was an extremely convoluted string of accidents, I think. We do not know the whole story, and we won’t until Roman and Deceit wake up.”  
“What happened to them?”  
It did not escape Logan’s notice that Remus’ grip on his tie loosened.  
“Creative mishap in the Imagination, I believe,” Logan explained, gently slipping Remus’ hand off his tie and putting it back down at the duke’s side. “Fire got out of control, then it was countered by Roman dumping an ocean on us, and…”   
Logan shrugged, and decided to ignore for now how traumatizingly _extreme_ the entire event really was.  
Remus’ lips twitched into a smile.   
“Sounds like fun,” he said, side-stepping around Logan and hovering over Roman, examining his face. “Who conjured the fire?”  
Logan frowned as he tried to remember.  
“I believe it was Deceit,” he said, rubbing his temple with a sigh. “Roman asked him to ‘hand over control’ of the Imagination, if I recall.”  
“Hmm,” Remus nodded. “Yep, that’d do it.”  
“Is he going to be okay?”   
Logan blinked at himself, at how _concerned_ he sounded.  
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and he heard the gasps of Patton and Virgil at the sight of the duke.  
Remus didn’t spare them a glance.   
“He’ll be completely out of it, probably overnight, too,” he informed Logan, poking Roman’s limp face and nodding like he’d just proven a hypothesis. “If he had to force control back to himself and then he made an ocean, well, he’s probably absolutely _fucked_ right now.”  
“His nose bled,” Logan said lamely, like it’d change the outcome.  
“Yep!” Remus chirped, wandering away from his brother. “Sounds about right.”  
“Is it common for Creativity?” Logan asked, following him across the room as Remus went over to Deceit. The others descended the last of the stairs and rushed over, beginning to set up the heating devices.   
“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “If we push ourselves too hard in the Imagination, we can just, like, collapse. Bleeding nose is a good indication.”  
“What happens then?”  
“Hopefully, someone finds us in the next couple days, before we wake up ourselves.” Remus said, with a smile that was way too bright. “Roman and I try to keep an eye on each other in that sense, in the very least.”  
Logan frowned at that, glancing at Virgil, who was busy plugging in his heater, and Patton, who was tucking Deceit in and switching the blanket on. The concern on their faces mirrored Logan’s own.  
Remus shrugged, and pushed past everyone to lift Deceit’s body gently and slide in underneath.  
“What are you doing?!” Virgil snapped.  
“Hey, purple rain, feel how hot I am,” Remus replied, grabbing Virgil’s icy hands in his own, ripping a gasp out of Anxiety.  
“You’re so fucking _warm_!”  
“Yeah!” Remus agreed. “And if Dee here needs warming up, well why not the walking furnace?”  
“He still calls you that, huh?” Virgil mused, standing behind the couch and leaning beside Remus. Logan almost commented on the casualness of this, of Virgil (who’d been so afraid of the duke before) ‘chilling’ with Remus now. It almost looked like he was falling back into an old rhythm.  
Logan decided to keep his mouth shut.  
“Yep-a-doodle,” Remus confirmed, pulling Deceit into his lap with such care that the others wouldn’t’ve guessed he could possess. “I’m not good for much else in this situation, so, yeah.”  
Patton’s hands were shaking, but he put his hand on Remus’ shoulder.  
“Are you okay with the heat, kiddo?” he asked, keeping a warm smile on his face. “Do you need anything?”  
Remus stared in surprise at Patton, who was talking to him, _touching_ him, even, and went to reply horribly, when Deceit shifted in his lap with a groan.   
“I’m fine,” was what he said instead.   
“Be careful not to touch his back,” Logan informed him softly. “That’s what got the worst burns.”  
Remus just nodded, and reached out and put his arm around Virgil’s shoulders.   
“C’mon, Frosty the Snowman,” he murmured, carefully shuffling until there was an extra spot on the end of the couch. “There’s space for one more.”  
Virgil slipped into the spare place easily, sliding in beside the duke.   
Logan and Patton glanced at each other, concern muted by curiousity.  
Patton went over to the cupboard under the stairs, before returning with another blanket, which he wrapped around the two of their shoulders.   
“Thanks, Pat,” Virgil told him with a smile, but his voice shook with some barely recognisable emotion, something that Logan hadn’t seen in a long time.  
Virgil was _scared_ of them.

Virgil was scared they’d be angry at him. Probably for being worried – for affiliating with the so-called ‘dark sides’. Logan wrapped his arms around his chest and wondered how long Virgil had been terrified.  
“Of course, kiddo,” Patton said softly, leaning down and dropping a soft little kiss into Virgil’s hair. “You need anything, you tell me, okay?”  
After a second of hesitation, Patton then moved and did the same to Remus.  
Remus gaped in shock, a hand going to the top of his head as Patton quickly scurried off to the kitchen, artfully placing his back to them so they couldn’t see his face.  
Logan watched Virgil turn and stare after Patton in shock, in _awe_, before a tiny little smile bloomed on his face, and Logan couldn’t help but feel that they’d done something right.  
Well, it seemed that Deceit was well-cared for now.

Logan offered as supportive a smile as he could as he passed the sofa, handing Virgil the TV remote as he went by, before joining Patton in the kitchen.  
They stood there, side by side, Patton leaning heavily on the counter, palms down.   
Logan leant on the counter, watching Patton’s face closely.  
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.  
Patton smiled at him over the top of his glasses, but it seemed tired.  
“I think it’s just…” Patton blinked slowly, “hitting me now. All of it.”  
Logan’s shoulders dropped, and he rubbed his face tiredly, nodding in agreement. His skin felt dry. His hair was still crusty with salt.  
“You should go sit down or some such,” Logan instructed, dropping his hands to the counter and bumping Patton’s hip with his own.  
“Maybe I should,” Patton agreed. “Maybe you should, too.”  
“What?”  
“You went through the exact same as us,” Patton said seriously, fixing Logan with a particularly paternal glare. “_And_ you’ve been on your feet taking care of us the whole time. Aren’t you tired? Were _you_ hurt?”  
Logan stared at him for a moment, like the thought of that hadn’t struck him.  
“I will be frank with you,” Logan said, pushing his glasses up his nose.  
“I thought you were Logan!” Patton interjected with a weak smile.  
“What…?” Logan frowned, before realisation dawned in his eyes and the groan it elicited from Logic made Patton giggle.   
“I will be _honest_ with you,” Logan corrected himself, eyeing Patton disapprovingly as the other tried to school his laughter back into a serious face, “I… forgot, I suppose.”  
“Forgot?”  
“I…” Logan’s eyes wandered. It looked like the cogs were whirring between his ears.  
“I put it out of mind for the sake of survival,” he eventually said, and he sounded so very clinical, Patton tried to hold back his wince. “What? I did. I had to.”  
“I know you did,” Patton rushed. “I’m not knocking that, I’m ever so _grateful_ you did that for us! It just… sounds bad that you forgot to look after yourself.”  
Logan blinked at him, before his lips quirked to the side and he could only nod in defeated acknowledgement.  
“To be fair,” Logan murmured, “it sounds like someone I know.”  
Patton took a moment to think about that, before his cheeks burned and he had to duck his head.  
“We’re as bad as each other,” he mumbled under his breath. “Aren’t we?”  
Logan smiled, and Patton thought that it was so very beautiful.  
“So,” Patton said, and he moved his hand so it covered Logan’s, moving slowly enough to give Logan time to say yea or nay, and squeezing gently. “Do you want to sit? Shall I make you some tea? Coffee? Cocoa?”  
Logan stared down at their hands, a flicker of something crossing his face, before looking up and letting the ghost of a smile play about his lips.  
“…Some tea, would be lovely,” he said hoarsely. “Chamomile?”  
“You got it, Log-arithm!” Patton chirped, picking up Logan’s hand and placing a cute little kiss into his knuckles. “You go sit down, I’ll bring it to you in a moment.”

He let Logan go, and giggled to himself at the blush on Logan’s face as the side left the kitchen and slowly sat at the table.  
As he set the kettle on, Patton busied himself with grabbing his and Logan’s mugs down off the shelf. He stopped for a moment, eyes darting to the others on the sofa, the chatter between Remus and Virgil, before grabbing Virgil’s mug and… his hand hovered over Roman’s mug. Would that be too on the nose? Would that be cruel? Would Remus find that funny?   
Patton shook his head and grabbed two of the blank mugs from the back of the shelf. He turned one over in his hands, trying to think of how to make it _Remus._   
He didn’t know Remus well enough to know what he really liked, and Patton kept finding his thoughts wandering to uncomfortable places.  
_Focus, Patton._  
With a blink, he tapped the mug, and a bright green spread across the uncoloured surface, spilling like ink from where his fingertip touched. From there, he drew on with a fingertip the shape of a squid, and it filled itself in in black.  
Wait, wait, wait! Not squid; _octopus._  
With a mumbled (family-friendly) curse, Patton rubbed the mark off with the heel of his palm quickly, before trying again.   
It was misshapen. It was wobbly. Patton wasn’t sure how many tentacles it was supposed to have. But he’d loathe to ask Logan, because whilst he was sure Logan would _know,_ he didn’t want to incriminate himself as stupid. But to balance it out, he had a _great_ idea of making the handle look like a tentacle! Which he hoped Remus would like.  
He set the mug down next to Virgil’s and reached for the next blank one.   
First things first, he changed the colour to black, before drawing with a fingertip a ring of yellow around the top and bottom of the mug.  
Trying to think of what to put on it, Patton found himself idly doodling little yellow bowler hats, before he decided that was cute, and covered the whole thing in the pattern.  
He turned the handle into an elegantly poised snake, and put it down on the counter. He got Roman’s down and put them together – for later.  
The kettle boiled. The rumble of it dragged Patton’s attention to it a moment before it clicked off.   
He poured four mugs, four tea bags, four mugs of tea. Sugar in a few of them, and he carried Logan’s and his over to the dining table, setting Logan’s down in front of him gently.  
“Thank you, my dear Patton,” Logan murmured, and the little nod to a memory touched Patton’s lips with a smile.  
“Of course.”  
He went back and picked up the other two mugs, carefully carrying them over to the sofa.  
“I made y’all tea, if you want it,” he said softly, causing the two to look at him. “Chamomile. I don’t know if you drink tea, Remus, but you don’t have to drink it.”  
“I’ll drink anything,” Remus said flippantly, but his eyes were on the green mug as Patton handed Virgil his.  
“Now, um,” Patton said, trying not to feel embarrassed. “We all have like, a personal mug? And I realised you didn’t have one, so I made you one.”  
He handed it over, and Remus’ eyes were wide as he took it with gentle hands, turning it to observe his handiwork.  
“I’m no Creativity!” Patton laughed, trying not to wring his hands anxiously. “And the… octopus… is kinda sad, but-!”  
“I love it!” Remus exclaimed, looking up with a wide grin and bright eyes. “You made me a mug! The handle is so cool!”  
Patton’s face split into a grin as Remus lifted the mug, spilling a little tea down himself in his excitement.  
“Virgil!” Remus elbowed the side next to him with vigour. “Look at my mug!”  
“It’s pretty fucking cool, Pat,” Virgil said, and the approval, the thanks in his eyes meant everything to Patton right then and there.  
“You’re more than welcome,” he chirped. “I made one for Dee too, for when he wakes up.”  
The shining in Virgil’s eyes set his heart a-glow like almost nothing else.  
“Thanks, Patton,” the emo said, his voice rough from emotions and salt. “That’s…”  
“No problem, kiddo,” Patton said softly, patting Virgil’s shoulder with a gentle smile. “I’m trying.”  
Virgil smiled back, leaning his head into Patton’s hand.   
“I know,” he replied.  
Patton patted his shoulder again, before retreating to the kitchen table before he did something stupid, like cry.


	8. Chapter 8

When Deceit woke up, he was absolutely achy, still completely exhausted, and ever so delightfully _warm.  
_That was a quite baffling set of thoughts. Why was he sore? Whose lap was he in? What…  
What _happened?  
_He reached out, mumbling a sleepy, incoherent stream of words, and a cold hand latched onto his and squeezed gently.  
“Hey, Dee.”  
Deceit blinked groggily.  
“…Anx?”  
He felt the hand tense, and then Deceit realised.  
“Virgil!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”  
“There we go,” Virgil said warmly, squeezing his hand again. “Welcome back, Dee.”  
“Nice to see you’re alive!” Remus chirped, and Deceit startled at the fact that _Remus_ was there. The flinch was immediately regretted as the skin on his back and arms and legs all _screamed_ in pain, and he couldn’t help but hiss.  
That was when he noticed he was bandaged quite thoroughly. That was when he noticed that his cloak of set off to the side, draped over the bannister of the stairs, and he noticed how it was mostly burned away.   
The roar in his ears sounded uncomfortably like water.  
Deceit sat up, ignoring the pain, ignoring how the others all started talking over each other to try and make him lie down again.   
“What did I do?”   
The croaked question brought an uncomfortable silence across the room. Deceit’s eyes wandered across everyone’s face, until he saw Logan and Patton standing over the dining room table, with scraps of white, stitched fabric spread out between them.  
His eyes widened as he recognised his own handiwork.  
“Oh,” he gasped out, fighting to struggle to his feet. “Roman, where’s Roman?”  
Virgil caught his arms before he could run off.  
“He’s okay,” he told Deceit firmly. “He’s here, see?”  
Deceit followed where Virgil nodded to, and sucked in a hissing breath at the sight of the prince.  
The prince, slumped limp in the armchair, face twisted in the ghost of a pained dream.  
His knees gave out, and Virgil tried to catch him as Deceit went down.  
“I hurt him,” he whimpered. “I _hurt_ him, Virgil.”  
“You didn’t mean to,” Virgil whispered. “It’s okay. You hurt yourself more.”  
“Good!” Deceit cried, gripping Virgil’s elbows tightly. “I-I…. I’m sorry!”  
“I know,” Virgil sank to his knees, opening his arms and letting Deceit collapse into his embrace. “You didn’t deserve to hurt, Dee.”  
Deceit buried his face in Virgil’s shoulder.   
“I…” he heaved for air. “Let me go.”  
“What?”  
“Let me go,” Deceit repeated, his voice thin and raspy. Smoke, then salt, then whatever happened when he was out, equalled one horrible throat. “Please.”  
Virgil did, but it was obvious he didn’t want to.   
Remus was hovering in worry, but Remus wasn’t delicate in these situations, and didn’t want to break him more.  
Deceit slumped back on his knees, staring at the floor and willing himself not to cry, not to _cry, not to cry.  
_All that, and he didn’t even succeed in getting rid of his _fucking cross-stitching!_  
There were footsteps, murmured words, and Virgil and Remus stepped back and Logan and Patton descended to his level, kneeling beside him.  
“Hey,” Patton said softly.  
Deceit didn’t look up.   
“Greetings.”  
“Salutations,” Logan nodded. “I thought I would keep you updated. You and Roman are healing far better and faster than anticipated.”  
Deceit turned his head to look at Logan, and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.   
“You should both be back to peak physical condition by tomorrow,” Logan continued, adjusting his glasses and doing his best to smile comfortingly. “Though Roman may take a little longer to wake, allegedly.”  
As Deceit frowned, Remus butted in.   
“Creativity thing!” the duke explained. “Sometimes we do so much Imaginationy stuff that we collapse!”  
“Overexertion,” Logan simplified, glaring over his shoulder at Remus as the explanation drew a more horrified expression out of Deceit. “Nothing a night or two’s sleep will not fix.”  
“Are you sure?”  
Deceit’s voice was small.  
“Absolutely,” Patton replied, and he pressed something ceramic and warm into Deceit’s hands, and Deceit looked down to see the mug of tea now clutched between his hands, and his brow creased in confusion at the fact he’d never seen this mug before.  
He lifted it to his eyelevel, confusion melting into awe at the details.  
His eyes watered at the little yellow bowler hats. He marvelled at the handle, and closed his eyes to breathe in the steam of the tea.  
“Who made this?” he croaked, trying to mask how he wanted to cry. “Remus, was it you?”  
“Uh,” Patton stumbled, and Deceit opened his eyes to see Patton wringing his hands. “I-it was me. The tea, and the mug.”  
Deceit stared at Patton in wonder.  
“_You_ made it… for _me?”_  
“Yep!” Patton tittered nervously. “Y-y’see, everyone has their own special mug, so we can tell them apart, and I realised today that you and Remus didn’t, and that was bad of me, so I made you one!”  
He ducked his head.   
“It’s not very good,” he mumbled. “Roman would’ve done it better than me.”  
Remus, who was settling back onto the sofa, snorted.   
“Mood!”  
That drew a couple concerned glances, but Deceit’s eyes were on Patton, before falling back to his tea.  
“Thank you,” he said softly, and the tears he’d been fighting escaped him silently. “It’s _perfect._”  
There was movement, and suddenly Patton’s arms were around him in the gentlest embrace Deceit had ever been on the receiving end of, and Logan quickly scooped the mug out of Deceit’s hands before the side dropped it in shock.  
“I’m sorry,” Patton choked out, and Deceit could feel something wet on the shoulder of his shirt. “I saw… I saw what I said, and what it meant. I’m sorry.”  
Deceit froze in his arms.  
“Oh.”  
“It’s appalling,” Patton told him, drawing back, “what I let myself believe about you.”  
Deceit shook his head, and took the tea back from Logan to mask how his hands were shaking.  
“Some of it was not unfounded,” he replied, taking a sip, and his face melted a little at how it soothed his poor throat.  
Patton frowned.  
“No, but it was quite…” he scrunched his face, clicking his fingers as he tried to think of the right word, “… uh, I think it’s _hippocratic_ of me.”  
Deceit looked at him funny.  
“Hypocritical,” Logan quickly suggested.  
Patton clicked his fingers at Logan with a quick smile.   
“That one!”  
A smile fought its way onto Deceit’s face.  
“It’s okay,” he croaked.  
Patton’s face fell.   
“But… It’s not.”  
Deceit shrugged, ignoring how much it hurt to do so.   
“It’s fine,” he repeated. “I forgive you.”  
Patton sat back, conflict on his face, staring at the floor like he was trying to figure out how to say words, say the _right_ words.  
Logan glanced at Patton, before sighing, a near imperceivably tiny huff of air, before scooting forward and sitting in Deceit’s sightline properly.  
Afraid of the impending conversation, Deceit took a long, slow draught of his tea and tried to look anywhere _but_ Logic.  
“Hey,” Logan started softly, and it was so soft, Deceit was jolted out of his thoughts, because he didn’t think Logan could_ be_ that soft, let alone towards _him._ He blinked at the side owlishly, a silent acknowledgement that Logan had his attention.  
“I would like you to know that you are not to blame for a single thing today,” Logan stated, folding his hands in his lap, and Deceit’s brow furrowed in nearly outraged confusion at that, but Logan held up a hand to silence his protests.  
“You were hurting,” Logan continued, “emotionally. A-and I apologise we did not even consider that you were.”  
Logan glanced at Patton, and Deceit realised it was for _support._  
“You don’t need to do this,” he butted in, causing them to look at him. “You don’t need to _change_ things. I’ll heal up, and then we can go back to the way it was, and everything will be fine.”  
The space around his words stretched out more and more, until Deceit was shrinking in on himself trying to figure out what he said wrong.

A few people tried to speak at once, which, honestly, scared Deceit a little, before Patton put up his hand, as if to quiet them down, as if he was patiently waiting for his chance to make his point.  
“I don’t know if you agree with us, Deceit,” he said, and his voice was wobbly yet also firm, in a way that let Deceit know he should be paying attention, “or at least with _me,_ but I think it has been proven now that the way it was before just… didn’t _work.”_  
Deceit’s eyebrows shot up.  
“It didn’t work for _all_ of us,” Patton amended, nodding to him, and to Remus. “And people got hurt because of it. A-and… I think I’m responsible for that. So I want to take responsibility for the change. You’re always welcome down here, both of you.”  
Remus was shocked into silence, mouth hanging open and blinking furiously, and his hands found Virgil’s as the duke scrambled for something to latch on to.  
Deceit gaped at him, and the tears started again, and he lifted the mug to his face and tried to hide the growing grin as he peered over the edge with wide, shy eyes.  
“Really?”  
“Really really,” Patton smiled back. “I promise I’m going to look after you from now on, okay, kiddo?”  
Deceit giggled into his tea.  
“I’m a kiddo,” he whispered, glancing at Logan beside him. “I’m a kiddo!”  
“That you are,” Logan smiled, getting to his feet with a groan. “Now, would you like to continue to be a kiddo on the floor, or would you like to rejoin your fellow kiddos on the couch?”  
Patton smiled at that, but Deceit started full-out giggling.  
“I want to be a couch kiddo,” he tittered, letting the others help him to his feet.  
He was wedged in between Remus and Virgil, the electric blanket tucked around him firmly, and he couldn’t help but lean over to Virgil.  
“I’m a kiddo,” he whispered, the excitement shining in his mismatched eyes.  
“I know,” Virgil whispered back, and he could see that same feeling on his friend’s face. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”  
As Deceit snuggled into his old family surrounded by his new, he couldn’t help but beam.  
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It really does.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh bby here comes the intruloceit train choo choo bitches

After that wonderful resolution, and the periodic checking of Deceit’s rapidly fading wounds, all that was left of the ordeal was to wait for Roman to wake up.  
The rest of the day, and night, ticked by without much happening, but not at any point was Deceit ever left alone.  
Logan had taken to reading to him, out of philosophy books and science fiction novels, and was slowly branching out into something more Deceit’s style.  
It sounded pathetic, but he’d always tried to imagine what Patton’s cuddles were like. Now, wrapped in Patton’s arms, he didn’t _have_ to imagine, and Deceit could indeed confirm they were better than he ever could’ve dreamed.   
Virgil hardly left his side, and it kept bringing memories back and tears to his eyes because he was so happy to have his best friend back. And Virgil starting asking Dee to teach him how to cross stitch, so they could sit there together in comfortable silence, like the old days.   
Remus kept flip-flopping between him and Roman, and as wonderful as it was to be able to have Remus with him so much, and so openly, it was a little alarming that even Remus was beginning to worry about his brother.  
Sometimes, Deceit would sit on the floor next to Roman’s chair, and discuss his ideas for future projects – or discuss as much as one could with someone who was out of it. Sometimes, he swore he could see his eyelids flicker. Sometimes, in the very rare moments over these few days when they were alone, Deceit would pour a little of his heart out, bit by bit, reassured by the fact Roman couldn’t hear, or in the least, couldn’t respond.   
He did hope beyond hope that these were conversations he could actually have with the prince later.  
  
The fourth night, Remus hunkered down in the living room, where Roman was being kept so it was easy to keep an eye on him.  
“I don’t think either of us have been out for this long,” he said in a low voice, his words intended for Logan standing next to him, but Deceit couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt. “I… I just don’t _know.”_  
“It’s okay,” Logan comforted him, surprisingly soft. “You two are ridiculously tough. I am confident Roman will bounce back, just as obnoxious as ever.”  
Remus laughed at that, and came to sit beside Deceit and turn the TV on, but even without looking up from his needlework, Deceit could _feel_ how tense the duke was beside him.  
“I’m sorry.”  
The words were out his mouth before Deceit could register whether or not he should say them.  
Remus stared at the air in front of him for a moment, blinked a couple of times, before turning to Deceit with a strange look that Dee couldn’t place in his eyes.  
“For what?”  
“For hurting your brother,” Deceit said, voice petering out to a whisper as Remus’ eyes hardened the further he got through that sentence.  
“It’s not your fault,” Remus told him with a shake of his head.   
“Everyone keeps _saying_ that,” Deceit protested, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. “But you really think you can just _say_ stuff like that to me? I know what a lie sounds like. I can hear it in your voices, I can _smell _it. You _do_ blame me, even if it’s only a little.”  
“Well, of course, I’m going to resent you at least a _little_ bit,” Remus chortled. “You went off with my brother in the Imagination, something he’s not done with me in, what, like a year? Maybe two? And then you set you both on fire, which sounds, like, _exactly my jam,_ and then you nearly _drown,_ which I can tell you is a whole lot less fun than everyone thinks, and then I come down stairs and my two favourite people are _dead?_”  
Remus blinked.  
“Dead, with lots of question marks,” he amended. “Yeah, it’s first off: a lot to take in, and b) I guess this what emotionally competent people might say is …grief?”  
“Grief,” Deceit echoed. “You were going to grieve for me.”  
“Of _course_ I’d fucking grieve for you, you scale-brained idiot!” Remus exclaimed. “You-! Y-you…”  
He rubbed his face, before turning and hugging Deceit tightly. A little too tightly for Deceit’s comfort, but the side couldn’t find it in him to care as he buried himself in Remus’ heat and tried not to doubt him.  
“You practically _raised_ me,” Remus said quietly, having the good grace to drop his voice and whispering for only them to hear. “I _know_ I’d be so much more fucked up if I didn’t have you. I’d rip this entire place and everyone in it to shreds with my bare fucking hands for you, if you asked.”  
Deceit found himself clutching back.  
“You never question me,” he murmured. “I think that’s a bad thing.”  
“Maybe so,” Remus shrugged. “Never said I was smart. That’s _your_ job.”  
Deceit laughed a little. Laughed and pulled back from the hug, rubbing away tears with the heel of his palm.  
“You’re very trusting,” he said, a tearful little laugh bubbling up from the base of his throat.  
“You haven’t given me reason to _not_ be,” Remus reasoned, settling back on the sofa and switching his attention to the TV, seeming to not see the wondrous look of awe on Deceit’s face at that declaration.  
Deceit couldn’t find the words to argue back. Couldn’t find what to say.  
_Hadn’t given him reason not to be._  
He hadn’t let Remus down?  
That seemed like a lie.  
But there wasn’t an ounce of falsehood in Remus’ voice.   
Deceit looked away, trying to process it, because…  
Well, hearing people cared was _weird._

He only really noticed Logan was standing over them with mugs of tea when the side stood in his sightline – he supposed he _had_ been out of it for a while, there, and he set aside his stitching and smiled his thanks as Logan pressed the warm mug of tea _(his_ mug of tea!) into his hands.  
“Thank you, Logan,” he murmured, shrinking in on himself, not because he felt bad, but because he felt so wonderfully and emotionally full that he just didn’t know what to do with himself.  
“Thanks!” Remus chimed. “Say, Logan, can you help us clear something up?”  
Deceit’s head snapped towards him with wide eyes as Logan adjusted his glasses.  
“Of course,” said Logic.  
“Remus!” Deceit hissed, his grip on his mug tightening. “I don’t want to do this.”  
“You should, though,” Remus argued. “It’d be, shit, what’s the word? Um.”  
He snapped his fingers repeatedly, looking between the others for support.   
“Feeling good. Cat hearts.”  
“What?”  
“Cathartic?” Logan offered.  
“That one,” Remus beamed.   
Deceit shrunk into his blanket and ducked his head.  
“There is no pressure to do anything,” Logan commented, going and sitting down in the last free armchair, dragging it around so he faced the two on the sofa. “But if I may set something to rest, I am happy to help.”  
Deceit stared down into his mug, and took a long, long draught.   
“Shall I say it?” Remus tried to catch his eye.  
Deceit looked at him, one yellow eye boring into Remus’, before he looked back into his tea, and nodded.   
Remus turned back to Logan with a too-bright smile.  
“Deceit’s afraid you’re lying,” he said cheerfully. “About not blaming him.”  
Deceit took another long drink as Logan looked at him. He barely met Logan’s eyes before they flitted away, but Logan smiled softly at him nonetheless.  
“I am aware that you have methods of telling truth from fiction,” Logan acknowledged, clasping his hands in his lap. “What can I do to help you, Deceit?”  
Deceit looked away.  
“It’s not…” Deceit started, before sighing.   
He glanced imploringly at Remus.  
“He smells lies!” Remus filled in. “But! Only like a snake.”  
Deceit raised his cup to hide his face, peering at Logan over the rim as Logan absorbed this information. Logan turned to him with curiousity plain on his face.  
“It is not particularly dignified,” Deceit mumbled. “I… use this ability sparingly because I know if…”   
His eyes darted to the staircase.  
“If the _others_ knew,” he continued, “I feel that I would be…”  
“Mocked,” Logan finished, nodding tiredly. “I understand completely.”  
Deceit lowered his mug a little, so that his smile was visible.  
“Hit the nail on the head, there, Logan,” he said.  
“Nails?” Logan frowned. “There’s no hardware here.”  
“It’s an idiom.”  
“Ah.”  
Remus held out a hand and all of a sudden, he had a hammer.   
“Doesn’t have to be figurative!” he said cheerfully.  
“But! It might be best if it stays that way,” Deceit said smoothly, immediately taking the hammer out of Remus’ hand. “It will only result in property damage, currently.”  
“Aw,” Remus pouted, but dispelled the hammer with a wave of his hand. “Fine. Later?”  
“Later,” Deceit promised.   
Logan raised an eyebrow at that, but settled back into his seat more comfortably.  
“So,” he offered. “Would you like me to repeat some of my statements from previous days whilst you test for lies within my sentiments?”  
Deceit looked down at his tea again, before back at Logan, and the level of coolheadedness he could see in the side’s eyes was… calming.  
He nodded, not trusting his words.  
“Very well,” Logan nodded, tilting his head up to look at the ceiling as he formulated his thoughts. He took a few deep breaths, like he really had to prepare himself.  
There was a moment of silence.  
“I do not blame you at all for the events of the week,” Logan stated firmly, yet his voice seemed to be just shy of shaking, and he kept his eyes pointedly on the ceiling.  
Deceit hesitated, glancing at Remus, who nodded encouragingly, before he let his forked tongue slip between his lips and taste the air.  
It was sweet.  
It was true.  
A tear slipped down his cheek.   
“I do not blame you for the damage we have taken.”  
Deceit hid his face behind his mug, pressing his forehead into the warm ceramic.   
“I am sorry for how we treated you.”  
It was… sweet, but there was something else in there. Something he couldn’t place.  
“Say that again,” Deceit ordered, sitting up and staring Logan down.   
Logan jumped, confusion twisting his face. He went bright red.  
Deceit flinched.  
“I’m sorry,” he rushed, rising to his feet. “I didn’t mean-! I’ll… I’ll just go.”  
He didn’t get far. Mostly because Remus had looped his fingers into the waistband of Deceit’s trousers to keep him from leaving.  
“Dee,” he said. “it wasn’t like you told him to go fuck himself. Is it an issue, Logic?”  
“N-no,” Logan said with a cough. “Not at all. Just, ah, caught me… off guard.”  
He was blushing, adjusting his tie in that way that Logan did when he was nervous, or when he was uncomfortable.   
Deceit didn’t move, but found himself glaring down at Remus, who still had his fingers in his waistband.  
“Do you mind, Remus?”  
“Oh, no, I don’t,” Remus said pleasantly. “Sit down, Dee.”  
Deceit sat. Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to upset them. And also because he knew Remus was more than willing and able to pull his trousers down. He drank the rest of his tea and rubbed his thumb over the scaly pattern on the handle.   
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.  
“Don’t apologise,” Logan told him, sitting up straight and fixing his tie. “I, ah…”   
He looked away with a deprecating shake of his head.   
“I am… _bad…_ at this,” he choked out, and Logan was hugging himself tightly, and Deceit was half-out of his seat already, not to run, but to _comfort,_ and he caught himself, because Logan most likely wouldn’t want _him._  
Logan seemed to notice, because of course Logan did, and he smiled thinly.  
“I am more than happy to tell you facts, and clear up cognitive distortions,” he continued, steepling his fingers and avoiding Deceit’s eyes. “But when things get… emotionally charged, now _that_ is where I struggle.”  
Deceit couldn’t help but snort.  
“Me too, sometimes,” he said, setting his cup down in his lap. “You don’t need to force yourself, Logan, please. I know how hard it can be.”  
Logan smiled his little ghost-smile, the one that twisted the corner of his lips with no more than a hint of a smile, but still lit up his eyes most beautifully.  
“I am sincerely sorry,” he whispered, “for the way you and the duke have been treated for the past… well, _ever._ By all of us. But, in this moment, myself in particular._”_  
Deceit’s tongue had slipped out to rest on his lower lip, and no. There was no denying the most _wonderful_ sweetness that flooded his senses.  
“You aren’t lying,” he whispered in awe. “You _aren’t.”_  
Loan smiled at him again, eyes sparkling.   
“It is not my job,” he shrugged, a teasing tone creeping into his voice. “I do know someone, if you need that, though.”  
Deceit buried his face in his hands to try and hide any giddy giggles.  
“I want-!”  
He cut himself off with a shake of his head.  
“No, no, it’s fine,” he finished, tucking his hands into his armpits to keep himself from doing something that’d get him mocked, like shaking out his hands in his excitement.  
“No,” Logan countered, rising to his feet. “What do you want from me?”  
Deceit wavered, but in a brief moment, he felt brave enough to stand as well, stepping towards Logan carefully.  
“I…” he wrung his hands. “Um. It’s fine.”  
“Ask,” Logan ordered, hand on his hip. “I can always turn it down.”  
_That’s what I’m afraid of, you daft goose,_ was what Deceit _didn’t_ say.  
“Can I hug you?” was what he did say.  
Logan blinked owlishly at him a few times, like he wasn’t sure he heard Deceit correctly.  
“Me?” he echoed. “I-I mean, if you want? But… Are you s-”  
Deceit had already thrown himself at Logan before that sentence could end, appalled that Logan would even _think_ about questioning someone wanting to embrace him.  
“Of course _you,_ you silly man,” he murmured. “…Thank you, Logan.”  
Logan’s arms wrapped around him, and Deceit hummed, feeling so wonderfully warm and astoundingly safe in this moment, he never wanted to let go.  
“You’re welcome,” Logan whispered back. Deceit could feel Logan’s words on the side of his neck, ghostly, warm, gentle. “You’re more than welcome.”  
He gasped, and tried not to jolt backwards out of the embrace as he swore he felt the ghost of _lips_ there as well.   
He pulled back, trying to mask his shock behind a pleasant smile and failing miserably as Logan _giggled_ at him.   
“You sly dog,” Deceit croaked, a hand drifting to where Logan’s lips had brushed.  
Logan smiled, a wider, more devious smile, and before Deceit knew what was happening, Logan had put a hand either his of his face and pulled him close to press a kiss onto his cheek.  
The scales tingled and burned most delightfully where his lips met.  
Remus crowed as Logan, cheeks dusted red, pulled back with a smirk.  
“I’m not good at affection, but-”  
“You’re doing pretty damn well right now,” Deceit interrupted, his human half flushing furiously as he took a few, shocked, stumbling steps backwards. “Oh my god.”  
“Deceit?”  
“Oh my god,” he repeated. “I’ve just been kissed.”  
Logan’s face dropped.   
“Was that okay?” he immediately queried, concern shining in his eyes. “I should’ve inquired beforehand, I’m so sorry for overstepping.”  
Deceit had his hand over his cheek, the sensation still burning and tingling.  
“Holy shit,” he muttered to himself. “I’m fine. Oh my god, Logan, I’m fine. I think I’m still a little touch starved. I’m just, uh-”  
“Oh no,” Logan rushed, going to step forward again, but Remus had intercepted, wrapping his arms around Deceit from behind and resting his chin on Deceit’s shoulder.   
“Did you let it get that bad again?” came the quiet question from the duke.  
Logan stopped in his tracks, eyes on Deceit’s face as Deceit turned his head to look down at the duke. Deceit smiled a small, painful smile.  
“…I didn’t mean to.”  
“I know,” Remus sighed, squeezing tightly, reassuringly. “It’s okay.”  
Logan watched Deceit melt into the embrace, and he would almost say he felt a spike of something akin to _jealousy_ lance him through the gut.   
He withdrew, letting the two continue as he turned and scooped up their empty mugs and went to retreat to the kitchen.  
“Logan,” Deceit called. “I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault,” Logan said, and his lips twitched at the hint of a smile as Deceit seemingly subconsciously checked for lies. “I-it’s okay. I don’t mind.”  
As soon as the last sentence left his mouth, Deceit’s face darkened, and Logan decided to walk away, seeing as his ruse was almost up.   
“Logan!”  
Remus was in front of him, suddenly, hands on his hips.   
“Nerd Chicane,” he tutted. “Please, let me.”  
He took the cups out of Logan’s hands and magicked them with a wave of his hand over to the kitchen, Logan watching with a somewhat detached concern.   
“Logan,” Deceit repeated. “I’m sorry.”   
He was behind him all of a sudden, and despite being stuck between these two sides they didn’t know if they could trust for so long, he felt…  
_safe.  
_“I’m sorry I lied,” Logan replied, rubbing his arm sheepishly, because he knew Deceit knew exactly what he lied about. “I just…”  
Deceit turned him around to they were facing each other, and smiled ever so softly at him.  
“W-would you like to sit on the couch with us for a bit?” he offered shyly.   
“Cuddles!” Remus cheered in excitement. “_Only_ cuddles!”  
“Why did he have to specify?” Logan asked in alarm.  
Deceit rubbed his face tiredly.   
“He likes the element of discomfort sometimes,” he grumbled. “Don’t mind him.”  
“I’ll…” Remus backed away slowly, hands in the air, sounding resigned in an oddly familiar way. “I’ll, uh, go. Sorry.”  
“Don’t be silly,” Deceit told him, reaching past Logan to grab Remus by the sash and pull him back. “Do you mind, Logan?”  
Logan looked between Deceit and Remus, before he couldn’t fight down his smile anymore.  
“I do not mind at all,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey im uploading all the chapters at once and it just struck me that it might notify people every chapter that's uploaded?? so um sorry for the 18 emails??? im just excited to put this out kdjhgdfjghzdjg  
short bit of patton angst for ya

They fell asleep like that. Deceit wedged between Logan and Remus. Logan had his head on Deceit’s shoulder, their sides flush with each other, glasses tucked into his collar. Remus was curled into Deceit’s side, arm wrapped around his middle, holding him tightly. One of Deceit’s arms was around Remus’ shoulders. Another was around Logan’s waist. The arm around Remus pulled him in close, tightly, the two of them so comfortably familiar with how they slotted together so snugly it was almost liked they belonged there. The arm around Logan was loose, but Deceit’s hand was comfortably resting on his hip. It was gentle, almost tentative, but the closeness of their bodies was clue-in enough that both of them wanted to be there.   
Patton had come downstairs late that night to find them there, and as he choked back tears, which he thought (and hoped and prayed) were happy ones, he dug out a few more blankets from the cupboard and tucked them in nicely.  
It was so cute.  
They all looked so happy.  
Patton found himself admiring Logan’s relaxed face, far calmer than he’d seen him… _ever._  
Far happier with someone else.  
Something stabbed at Patton’s chest, and he made himself turn away before he made himself cry. _This was pathetic, Patton_.   
He should’ve known. He should’ve _known_ that Logan was too wonderful for him.  
That was okay.  
It was fine.   
He took several deep breaths, and put his back to the three of them, padding across the room on silent socked feet to check on Roman.

Roman had had a temperature this afternoon. Fortunately, it had broken since, and currently, the prince was _cold_ to the touch. Patton quickly fetched another blanket to tuck around the prince, checking all his bandages exactly how Logan taught him.   
Roman was… fine, technically. Everything had scarred two days ago, and now even the scars were fading nicely.  
All that was left was for Roman to wake up.  
Patton found himself kneeling on the floor by Roman’s side, holding his hand tightly and finally failing to fight back his tears.  
“I miss you, Ro,” he whispered, voice louder than it should’ve been in the dead night air. “Please… wake up, kiddo.”  
He watched Roman’s face closely, like he was hoping his words would have any effect.   
Nothing changed.  
The tears leaked out. What else was he supposed to do? So much was changing. So much had changed already. He wasn’t adapting well. But he couldn’t _afford_ not to adapt. He was doing a terrible job of coming to terms with his poor treatment of the dark sides – _no_, he corrected himself harshly,_ the Others._ And no, that felt awful too. That still felt horribly sour in his mouth because they weren’t “others.” They were still parts of Thomas. Still important, even if Patton didn’t like them.  
“But I _do_ like them,” he said out loud, so soft you could miss it. “I _do…_ well, I do _want_ to like them. I _do_ _want_ to love them, Roman. Ro, I feel so awful. I was so awful to them, kiddo. So much is new and so much as changed, and I’m not _good_ at change, Ro! I need someone who is.”  
He dropped his chin onto the armrest, next to Roman’s limp hand which was still firmly clasped in his.  
“I need you, Ro,” he whispered, and his breath was hitching as he pressed his lips into Roman’s knuckles. “I-I need…”  
He pressed Roman’s hand to his forehead, trying to dampen his sobs because everyone was asleep, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone else ever again, at all, including interrupting their sleep. He couldn’t bear to hurt anyone else ever again. None of them _deserved_ that. He desperately wanted some reassurance- that he was on the right track, that he could fix this, that everything would be fine.  
Roman squeezed his hand.

It was so light, Patton nearly missed it. Didn’t _think_ about it until it hit him, and his hand snapped up to Roman’s face to see him fighting to open his eyes, fighting to look at Patton, fighting to smile a weak smile, before his head lolled back again, his eyes slipped shut, and his hand went limp in his grasp once more.  
Patton was dumb-founded. A grin spread across his face, before it fell, warring with concern and grief and confusion and _should he wake Logan_ or _should he try and wake Roman again_ and _they deserve to know_ but _he shouldn’t disturb them_ and he couldn’t _think_ he didn’t _know, _and he was so _tired,_ and eventually, all the thinking wore him down so thoroughly he found himself slumped against the side of Roman’s armchair, the prince’s hand still clasped in his as he curled up and slipped into a bland, exhausted sleep, the tears drying in salty streaks on his cheeks.


	11. Chapter 11

Virgil found the five of them like that in the morning. He froze on the stairs, staring in confusion, gaze darting between Patton curled up on the floor beside Roman, holding Roman’s hand, and Logan and Deceit and Remus _cuddling_ on the sofa.  
A bark of shocked laughter was ripped out of him, and Virgil rubbed his face and battled with the familiar wave of self-deprecation that washed through him.  
They’d like the others more than him, and he’d be replaced by Dee and Remus. Virgil would have to go back to being _alone._  
He choked down his anxiety and hurried down the stairs, letting his feet fall heavily and letting his thundering footsteps wake everyone up so he didn’t have to do it personally.  
Everyone jolted awake; Patton scrambling to his feet in an instant with poorly-disguised guilt plastered all over his face; Logan blearily blinking to life; Deceit bolting upright at the noise; Remus whining more at the fact Deceit moved away from his embrace than all the noise.  
Well, everyone woke, but Roman.  
Virgil breezed past everyone, calling out “rise and shine, bitches,” as he entered the kitchen.  
He watched Logan and Deceit quietly ask questions, like they were assuring each other they were okay, whilst Remus clung to Deceit’s side like a stubborn koala. God, he forgot how cuddly Remus got.   
As everyone rose to their feet as Virgil set the kettle on, going about fixing coffee and tea and whatever for everyone.   
He noticed Patton hadn’t moved, standing over Roman, still holding his hand tightly.  
Something in Virgil’s chest twisted, and he made a beeline for Morality, before gently laying a hand on his shoulder.  
“Pat?”  
“He woke up,” Patton declared loudly, drawing everyone’s attention in three words. “Last night, when I checked on him.”  
“What?” Deceit cried, and he was there in a heartbeat.  
“I-I…” Patton stammered, quickly yet gently setting Roman’s hand down like he felt he wasn’t _allowed_ to hold it. “He squeezed my hand, opened his eyes a-and smiled at me, for maybe a few seconds? Before he slipped under again.”  
Deceit’s gaze shifted from Roman to Patton, and hesitantly, he laid a hand on Patton’s shoulder.  
“That’s wonderful,” Deceit said, squeezing his shoulder gently. “That’s wonderful, Patton.”  
Patton smiled, a smile that did nothing for Virgil’s worry because it _clearly_ didn’t reach his eyes, and he nodded and stepped back, letting Logan push past to check up on Roman.

Patton tailed him back to the kitchen, and as soon as they were in the safety of the other room, Virgil turned around and caught Patton in a hug.   
Patton flinched in shock, before wrapping his arms around Virgil tightly in return, and Virgil let Patton bury his head in the softness of Virgil’s hoodie.  
“Hey,” he murmured.  
“Hey,” Patton choked out in return.   
Virgil’s hand went to Patton’s hair, and he could feel something wet soaking his shoulder.  
“You okay?”  
“Yeah.”  
Virgil leant his head against Patton’s.  
“You _actually_ okay?”  
Patton sucked in a shaky breath.   
“…Not really,” he finally replied. “Not really.”  
Virgil pressed a kiss into Patton’s temple, the way Patton did when Virgil was upset.   
“That’s okay,” Virgil whispered. “A lot’s happened.”  
“I’m so bad,” Patton said, and Virgil couldn’t help but flinch.  
“You’re not.”  
“I am,” Patton shook his head and started to pull away, but it was hesitant and longing, and Virgil could tell Patton didn’t _want_ to let go.  
He wrapped his arms around Patton even more firmly before he could escape.   
“You’re not,” he growled out, horrified that Patton could believe that. “Patton, you’re not bad.”  
“I’m-” Patton cut himself off with a gasp, before he forcibly pulled himself away from Virgil and tried to school his face into a neutral expression as he scrubbed his face dry.  
Virgil watched Patton try to shut it all off, and he wondered if Patton could feel how that made his heart break.  
He might’ve, because Patton’s head did snap up, their eyes meeting, and the grief in his eyes threatened to tear Virgil apart.  
“Pat,” he breathed. “Pat, I care about you, you know that? I know this is hard. We got hurt. We’re changing. You’re doing so well.”  
Patton’s face crumpled, and he hugged himself tightly.   
“Pat, tell me what’s wrong,” Virgil demanded, stepping in close and taking Patton’s head in his hands, tilting his head so Patton _had_ to look at him. “It’s eating you alive.”  
“I’m not changing fast enough. I’m not _good_ enough,” Patton blurted, and he gasped for air as Virgil’s face dropped.  
“See?! I don’t need to upset you,” Patton said, trying to push away. “It’s so… _nothing._ I’m-”  
Virgil drew him in close and kissed his forehead.   
“No, Pat,” he said softly, firmly, and he was trying to choke down his tears because he didn’t need to cry on Patton here. “You’re good enough. You’re trying, you’re starting, and that’s _literally_ all we can ask of you.”  
“They deserved to be loved,” Patton stated, and he turned his head to watch Remus and Deceit and Logan, them all hovering over Roman, Remus’ arms snaked around Logan’s middle and Logan laughing at something he said.  
“They all deserve so much better than I can give,” Patton continued, voice hoarse. “Remus and Deceit. _Logan._ …I can’t even help Roman. A-and I have hardly seen you in the past five days, and that’s because I’ve been _wallowing_ in my own self-pity, and I’m letting everyone down, and I need to be able to love the others but it’s not working! And I feel awful I can’t love them! I want to, Virgil, believe me I do, but I can’t help but be scared. I can’t help but feel like, this initial moment of ‘oh no _they’re_ here’ whenever I see them, but that’s so _awful_ and I shouldn’t think like that!”  
“We’ve been thinking like that for like, thirty years,” Virgil cut in smoothly. “It’s not going to change in five days, Patton. It’s going to take time to un-learn how you’ve trained yourself to think. Why do you think it took Roman and I so long to decide to like each other?”  
Patton’s lip wobbled, but that last bit nearly wrung a smile out of him.  
“It’s hard,” Virgil said firmly. “It’s so _stupidly_ _fucking_ _hard_, and I’m so proud of you. Actually wanting to change is half the battle, Patton. It took me so long to _decide_ whether I wanted to trust you guys or not, whether I deserved to _be_ trusted…”  
Virgil dropped his head, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever planned on admitting these things, but Patton’s arms were around him in an instant and he let himself burrow into that warmth.  
“It means the world to me you’re trying,” Virgil mumbled out. “The mugs? The way you’ve been patient with Remus? It’s… really awesome.”  
Patton squeezed him tightly, and Virgil couldn’t miss the choked sob that Patton tried to force back.   
“You’re doing enough, Patton,” Virgil said firmly. “_You’re_ enough.”  
Patton’s lips found his temple, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile at the softness.   
“I’m not sure that’s at all true,” he admitted quietly, pulling back to look at Virgil’s shining eyes. Then he smiled, and _there_ was that beautifully bright smile Virgil had come to love. “But I might let myself believe you today.”

Patton helped him make tea, helped him make it exactly how everyone liked it. They found themselves constantly bumping hips, making each other giggle, and Virgil couldn’t help but wonder how Patton could _ever_ think he was bad as he watched Patton throw his head back to laugh at Virgil’s weak attempt at punning, and he couldn’t keep the awe-filled smile of his face.  
As Patton giggled himself out, he turned to ask Virgil a question, and the look on Virgil’s face made him stop dead.  
Virgil’s eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, and he covered his face in his hands.  
Patton’s hands found his, and gently peeled his hands off his face.  
“Hey,” Patton said softly, catching his eye with the softest smile Virgil’d ever seen.  
“Hey,” Virgil breathed back, caught off guard. How was this person holding his hands, so close to him, _loving him_, so beautiful?  
“Virge?”  
Oh. When did he start crying?  
Patton cupped his face gently with one hand, and his thumb gently wiped the tears away.   
“I’m fine,” Virgil smiled, voice cracking. “I just… started thinking about how much I love you.”  
Patton’s shocked face was one of the best thing’s Virgil had seen. The pure joy that shone in his eyes after the shock wore off was even better.  
“Me?”  
“Yeah.”  
Patton wrapped his arms around Virgil’s waist and lifted him, spinning him around as he couldn’t help but giggle. Virgil laughed too, because how could he not, when Patton was so full of life and joy?  
“I love you too!” Patton beamed back. “I love you to the moon and back.”  
“I love you to _Pluto_ and back,” Virgil one-upped him, kissing his nose lightly.  
Patton gasped dramatically.  
“I love you to the edge of the conceivable _universe_ and back!”  
“Ah!” Virgil faux-cried in a terrible English accent as Patton put him down. “I can’t believe you’ve done this!”  
Patton cracked up again, before he took Virgil’s face in his hands and placed a brisk, soft, _wonderful_ little kiss on his lips.   
Virgil gasped, fingers going to his lips to feel the ghost of the softness of Patton’s lips, eyes full of wonder.   
“Wow!”  
They both jumped so very hard as they realised Remus was there, Remus was _right there,_ leaning on the counter and watching them with a grin.  
“Get a room, why don’t you?”

Patton screamed in fear, dropping Virgil and leaping back so high he nearly made it onto the countertop. Virgil was left with his arms extended like a poseable doll, glaring at Remus as the duke started to howl with laughter.  
“Remus!” Virgil snapped, hands on his hips. “Do you _fucking_ mind? We were having a _moment.”_  
“Maybe I was feeling left out,” Remus pouted, fluttering his eyelashes at Virgil as he set his chin on his hands. “Wanted to see what was going on in here, and _oh how interesting it was_. Wouldn’t it be hot to_ do it_ in here? I think you’re the right height that a good countertop fuck could really-”  
“I’mma stop you right there,” Virgil interrupted, leaning over the counter and placing his finger over Remus’ lips as a polite, universal sign of _shut up._  
Remus grinned, all teeth, before leaning forward and taking Virgil’s finger in his mouth.  
Patton, behind them, laugh-cried-shouted in shocked, semi-hysterical, confused amusement as Virgil sighed heavily.  
“Can I have my finger back?”  
Remus scrunched his nose. Virgil could feel his tongue.  
“Remus,” he said, tone slipping into one you might use with an overenthusiastic dog, or a misbehaving child. “Let go.”  
Remus did, with a pout and a snicker.  
“Um,” Patton said.  
“It’s his way of saying hello,” Virgil grumbled. “Sometimes. My mistake, shouldn’t’ve touched the face.”  
Remus ran his fingers over his moustache, like he was checking it was in one piece, before winking at Patton and poking his tongue out at Virgil as Anxiety went to wash his hands.   
“So…” Remus drawled. “What’s going on in here, besides the makeout session?”  
Patton laughed as Virgil spluttered, and if Virgil had hackles, they’d be raised right now.  
But Remus only laughed as Virgil turned over his shoulder and hissed at him.   
Patton tried to hold in his little squee of joy at the sound, Virgil was _too cute_, as Remus made some god-awful sound back. Seeing as Virgil didn’t flinch, the gurgling-drainpipe-noise was probably standard.  
“What do you drink, Remus?” Patton asked as he crossed the kitchen to pull Remus’ mug and the kettle towards him. “Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?”  
“No coffee,” Virgil interjected. “Remus is banned from coffee.”  
Remus pouted at that, but pointed to the tea sadly nonetheless.  
“If it makes you feel better,” Patton said conversationally as he reached for the teabags, “so’s Roman. Once and _only_ once, he drank the whole pot before we could stop him, and preceded to destroy the living room, break the stairs, ‘re-decorate’ his room three times, run non-stop up and down the corridor until Logan and I didn’t know what else to do with him except turn him out into the Imagination and hope for the best.”  
Remus jaw dropped as the story went along. By the end, he was grinning from ear to ear.  
“That’s not an excuse to slip him coffee in the future,” Patton warned, peering over the top of his glasses sternly and pointing a finger at Remus.  
Remus blinked at him innocently.  
Patton raised his eyebrows.  
Before Patton could react, Remus darted forward and licked his finger.  
Patton couldn’t hide his squeal – it wasn’t really out of disgust or horror, in fact it quickly dissolved into laughter, but the sensation was so odd and he was so emotionally _off_ that morning that he couldn’t find it in him to react any other way. He fell back onto Virgil in a fit of giggles, clutching his hand to his chest.  
“Remus, what did you do?”  
“Swap places?” Patton asked, bumping Virgil’s hip with his own. “Need to wash me hands.”  
_“Remus!”_  
“It’s fine!” Patton followed up, plastering a kiss on Virgil’s cheek and laughing at the gagging sound Remus made. “Washing hands, though.”  
“I’m not a dog,” Remus called. “It’s not like I lick my balls or anything!”  
Patton shot him a glance, and proceeded to scrub his hands harder with the soap as Remus laughed at him.   
“Oh, how you fill me with confidence,” Virgil rolled his eyes, filling the line of mugs with water from the kettle as Remus started to frown in concentration.  
“Actually, I wonder if I’m flexible enough to do that,” the duke commented idly, grabbing his ankle and trying to start stretching his leg over his head. “That’d be _hot.”_  
“Ooooo_kay!”_ Patton exclaimed, finishing drying his hands and turning around with a bright, uncomfortable smile. “Not in the common room, please!”  
Remus stared him down, leg over his head, before slowly sticking out his tongue.  
“Kiddo,” Patton said in a warning tone, clasping his hands tightly and trying to remind himself to be patient, patient, patty-pat-patient. “I’m giving you _one_ warning.”  
“Rem,” Virgil said. “C’mon.”  
Remus glanced between the two of them, and didn’t move.  
“What _are_ you doing, my dear?” Deceit said, and Patton jumped as all of a sudden, Deceit was _there,_ leaning on the counter next to him, staring Remus down with his one eyebrow raised.  
“Tryin’ to lick my balls?” Remus offered, voice muffled around his extended tongue.  
Deceit fixed him with a _look._  
Remus lowered his leg.  
“_Fine,”_ he huffed. “But you can’t stop me later!”  
Deceit nodded tiredly, shooting Patton a look that brought a smile to Patton’s face – it was one he recognised, after all. Trying to reign Creativity in, either one of them at that, was most often a difficult-to-near-impossible task.  
“Why don’t you go grab some more thread for me from my room?” Deceit asked, nodding towards the stairs. “I need a red, a brown, and a green. And a blue.”  
Remus was already scrambling of his chair.  
“That’s still vague,” he commented.  
“I trust your judgement,” Deceit said, twirling his wrist in the air in a ‘eh whatever’ gesture. “Please and thank you, Remus.”  
And off Remus went, up the stairs, passing Logan as Logan took the stool Remus had just been occupying.  
Logan watched the duke go, before turning back to the others with one eyebrow raised in confusion.  
“What did I miss?”  
Patton slid his mug of tea across the counter to him with a laugh.   
“Don’t worry,” Patton said. “Just some finger licking.”  
Logan stared down at the tea for a moment, before looking up in something close to alarm.  
“What?”  
Virgil and Patton burst out laughing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton has a panic attack this chapter please be careful yall

Everyone ended up in the common room, lounging across sofas and such, companionable silence filling the air – though Patton turned Steven Universe on after a while because he wasn’t _great_ with silence, if he was honest.   
Remus had taken up post sitting on the floor beside Roman, by his feet, and whilst his eyes were fixed on the screen, his fingers were tapping out random, near-frantic rhythms, and he began to hum idly under his breath. Virgil had his headphones on, so he didn’t notice as he scrolled through his phone. Deceit had his head down, scrutinising a mistake he’d made on his cross stitching (which Patton wasn’t sure what it actually was supposed to be yet, but that wasn’t any of his business, so he didn’t ask) so he didn’t really notice either. Remus seemed to feel Patton’s eyes on him, and stopped his movements with a muttered apology, tucking his hands under his armpits and refocussing on the TV, and Patton did too, but he kept stealing worried glances as after a few minutes, it seemed the lack of movement did more harm than good, and without the duke really noticing, Remus started to bounce his leg instead.   
Patton watched Logan glance up from his book, the movement must’ve caught in his peripheral vision, before they made eye contact.  
Remus was like his brother, they realised. Silence and sitting still and _him_ were not a good mix. He needed something to _do_.  
Patton sat up, summoning something as he scooted to the edge of the couch.  
“Remus?”  
Remus’ head snapped towards him, and he froze.   
“I’m sorry,” he said, and Patton recoiled at how resigned the duke sounded, and he wondered how many times he’d been shut down just for stimming. “I’ll stop.”  
“No! It’s okay, kiddo, really,” Patton rushed, looking down at the colouring in book in his hands, before offering it to Remus hesitantly. “But, would you like something to do? I realise this might not quite be your taste, but, uh…”  
Remus had already snatched it from his hands, tearing the crayons out of their plastic and flipping through the pages. He stuck the crayons he didn’t want at the moment between his teeth for safekeeping, rushing out a quick _thank you_ before his attention went solely to the Dora the Explorer colouring in pages in his grasp.  
Patton and Logan smiled at each other. Like brother, like… brother. He supposed.  
Deceit finally looked up, taking in the scene, before Patton read the flash of guilt across the side’s face and Deceit barely met his eyes before he shrunk in on himself, turning back to his needlework with far less enthusiasm.  
Patton went to say something, before he felt Deceit tense even more, and decided against it, turning back to the TV and simmering in the uncomfortable atmosphere instead.

It was surprisingly close to three o’clock before Patton realised he should probably make lunch for everyone.   
He’d gotten so caught up in his thoughts, staring _at_ Steven Universe more than actually actively _watching_ Steven Universe, that the time had just slipped by.  
He rose to his feet, handing off the remote to Deceit idly as he stepped over Remus, who was sprawled on the floor comfortably, having worked his way through about a third of the colouring in book. It seemed the duke was very happily gore-ifying every image, and whilst Patton was glad Remus was content, he did avoid looking too closely.  
He plodded on into the kitchen, rubbing his face as he tried to think of what to make. He really didn’t feel like making anything, but they did need to eat. Sandwiches? That could be a safe bet. He could do that. But everyone liked their own kind of sandwiches, and he didn’t have the slightest clue what Remus and Deceit would eat.   
He sighed a whimpering breath, combing through possibilities. Quiche? That plan would fall apart if either of them were vegan. _Were_ they vegan? Thomas certainly wasn’t, but that didn’t mean anything to his internal logic. Thomas didn’t need glasses, but here Patton was, pushing his glasses back up his nose and shaking his head like a dog shakes off water.  
He couldn’t come up with anything nice.  
His eyes landed on Roman’s gaunt face, and Patton choked down a pathetic little whine at the thought that maybe with Roman out of it, that was _why_ he couldn’t.  
He couldn’t _think_, he didn’t_ know,_ and he was still so _tired._  
There was a great rustle of movement, and before Patton realised it, everyone was looking at him, concern of varying degrees plastered across their faces.   
“Patton?”  
There was Logan, and the softness Patton could see in his eyes did nothing to comfort him.  
“You okay?”   
Virgil, ever the sweetheart.  
“I’m fine.”  
He watched Deceit frown, and he turned away quickly to throw the fridge open.   
“Everyone okay with leftovers for lunch?” he asked chirpily, pushing onwards to hope no one decided to make him open up or something else inconvenient, and brushing down the building horrible, jittery feeling that was making his chest tighten.  
There were footsteps, and Patton didn’t turn around to see who it was, he just kept pulling out tupperware containers out of the fridge to set on the counter, and ignored the hand on his shoulder as he bumped the fridge door closed with his hip.   
“We got… a lot of spaghetti, mostly,” Patton offered, smiling broadly and turning to see Logan, and letting his broad smile smother the pang of _something_ he decided to refuse to identify in his chest.  
He could hear the rush of something in his ears, and it sounded uncomfortably like water.   
Before he could stop himself, Patton reached out and latched on to Logan’s hand, because his breathing was turning shallow and if he closed his eyes he could see the enormous wave of water that knocked them all backwards and dragged him down, down, _down_ _and he couldn’t swim, _the only thing that had saved him was Roman and Roman was unconscious, he had no Roman to save him, and Logan pressed a glass of water into his hands and Patton immediately set it down on the counter because no, no water right now, please and thank you, no more water, he didn’t want water.   
He shouldn’t be relying on Roman. Roman who had no control over when he was going to wake up. Roman who saved them. Roman who was still hurt. Roman who was hurt because of an accident Deceit made because _Patton_ had hurt Deceit and it was _his fault_ and he could hear the rush of water in his ears and a pair of strong arms latched around his waist and Patton let himself cling back, clinging to this solid form in his arms like he had clung to the driftwood as soon as he came around, coughing up sea water and crying – and he _was_ crying now, and the taste of salt on his tongue did _nothing_ for his nerves.   
And why was he freaking out about the water? He wasn’t the one who nearly died.   
Or, not at least to the extreme Deceit nearly did.  
Deceit would be allowed to have a panic attack about nearly drowning. Patton got away scot free. He wasn’t allowed to have a panic attack about nearly drowning.  
That was when it struck him that he was having a _panic attack._

There was another pair of arms around him, and a voice in his ear, repeating instructions on a calm loop, and he finally managed to zone in on what they were saying as soon as he realised there was a voice.  
“-hear me, Patton? Breathe in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight. You can do it, just focus on my voice. Can you hear me, Patton? Breathe in for four-”  
Patton nodded his head tightly, and took a deep, shuddering breath in.  
“One, two, three, four,” the voice immediately switched its loop.  
“Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”  
Patton held his breath, trying to make himself stop shaking and failing miserably.  
“Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”  
He let the air rush out of him, leaving him dizzy, and he felt bad because he didn’t follow the instructions properly, and his lungs were empty by five.  
“Great. And again. In, two, three four.”  
Patton listened, and followed, falling into a rhythm until he finally managed to centre in on himself, and he realised his eyes were screwed tightly closed and he’d buried his head in someone’s shoulder, and judging by the black cotton dress shirt he was gripping tightly in his fists, it was Logan’s.

He lifted his head slowly, blinking away the last of his tears, and noticed with horror that _everyone_ was crowding the kitchen, Deceit holding Remus around the waist to keep them off to the side, and Patton wasn’t sure what Remus would’ve done but he _was_ glad for it nonetheless. Virgil was beside him, the one leading him through the breathing exercises, and of course, Logan was in his arms, carefully brushing his tears away with the heel of his palm.  
“Patton,” Logan said softly.  
“I know, I know,” Patton said miserably, trying to let Logan go, but his craving for affection outweighed everything else, and he found himself leaning into Logan’s touch like the pathetic idiot he was. “I’m sorry.”  
Virgil pressed countless little kisses into his cheek, temple, even tilting Patton’s head towards him so he could catch his lips.  
“Don’t apologise,” Virgil told him. “Please don’t apologise. You can’t control them. And they suck _balls._ Don’t apologise, Pat.”  
“You’re allowed to be upset,” Logan told him, repeating their last conversation. “You’re recovering.”  
“I don’t have anything to recover from!” Patton suddenly snapped, and he wrenched himself free of everyone’s grip and stepped back, his back hitting the fridge. “I don’t have the _right_ to be recovering!”  
Virgil and Logan started at him, and Patton’s hands went to his hair as he tugged frantically.   
“I wasn’t neglected or abandoned, I wasn’t ignored or hated, I didn’t burn or hurt or nearly drown or nearly die, I don’t have any reason or right to be hurting right now,” he gasped out, and he was tearing at his hair so the pain would give him something, _anything_ other than the sound of water in his ears to focus on. “Out of everyone in this room, I’m the _last_ person who should be having _fucking_ panic attacks about this week! I-I…!”  
Patton’s legs gave out from under him, and he was on the floor with his knees tucked up to his chest before he realised what had happened, sobbing into his hands and trying to hide his face from what he was sure were disgusted looks boring into the top of his skull.   
“I’m sorry I’m weak,” he choked out. “I’m trying not to be. I-I’m trying to love you all and change and not be scared but I’m _weak.”_  
There were hesitant footsteps, before his vision was filled with black and yellow, and Deceit pulled him into a gentle hug.  
“You’re not weak,” he murmured. “You’re sensitive. What a _wonderful_ thing to be.”

Patton stared over Deceit’s shoulder blankly, before what he _meant_ hit him in a rush and Patton couldn’t keep down the sobs that ripped themselves from his throat as he collapsed forward onto Deceit.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out between breaths.  
“I know,” Deceit replied gently. “Remember to breathe.”  
His voice sounded like Virgil’s then, and it threw Patton for such a loop that he nearly forgot to keep crying.   
“I-I…”  
“I know,” Deceit repeated softly. “I forgive you.”  
“You shouldn’t.”  
“I should,” Deceit argued. “And besides, that’s my decision to make.”  
“It’s a bad decision,” Patton retorted, wiggling out of Deceit’s embrace even though he desperately wanted the hug. “You should rethink it.”  
“No,” Deceit said, and a smile tugged about Deceit’s lips that left Patton staring in wonder, because it was such a pretty smile that really made him want to see it more often, “I don’t think I will.”  
Then, a pair of strong arms lifted him, hoisted him right off the ground and Patton squeaked because this was what Roman would do if he saw Patton sitting somewhere looking miserable, and Remus had scooped him up in his arms and twirled around the room holding him, causing the others to duck out of the way.  
“You’re scared!” Remus crowed. “That’s okay! We all get scared! I get scared a bunch. I was scared when I came downstairs and thought my brother was dead.”  
Patton was so thrown at the fact that Remus could be so different to Roman, yet so similar at the same time. It felt like a _punch_, and it jolted a few more tears out of him.  
“I don’t believe you can get scared,” Patton said, before he thought about whether he should or not.  
“Ah,” Remus tapped his nose, and Patton briefly wondered how Remus was holding him up if he had a free hand, before rapping on the side of his head like he was knocking on a window. “I don’t let it stay in _here_ if I do.”   
“The best part of having nasty thoughts,” Remus told him, putting him down with surprising gentleness, but still keeping a hold on Patton’s hand, “is telling someone, so that you’re not the only person in the world having to _live_ with the nastiness. And then it becomes easier. Because when someone else can explain it away, it’s not as nasty anymore.”  
Patton stared at him in awe, and he didn’t really realise he was still clutching Remus’ hand tightly until the duke pulled his hand back.  
“Does that make sense?”  
“Yeah,” Patton breathed, staring at the floor as he started to process what had just happened. “I think so. I’m sorry.”  
“Nothing to apologise for,” Logan told him firmly. “Now, I think you deserve a lie down, Patton. I’ll handle lunch.”  
“But-!”  
“No buts.”   
“Butts?”  
“No buts of _any_ variety.”  
“Aw.”  
Patton giggled.  
“Okay,” he said, letting Logan lead him over to the couch and sit him down, and trying to ignore how his head thumped in his chest at the _tender_ look Logan was giving him.   
Virgil was there, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, pressing a kiss into his forehead, and after a moment of hesitation, Logan leant forward and did as well, muttering a quiet embarrassed apology to Virgil as Patton went bright red and tried to keep himself from crying again.  
“Close your eyes, Pat,” Virgil murmured, hand threading through his hair tenderly. “I’ll wake you for food later.”  
Patton thought about arguing for a second, but as his eyelids drooped shut under Virgil’s gentle touches, he decided to smile and accept it, humming out a content little _thank you_ as he settled back on the sofa to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mentions of dissociation/a character dissociates for a few hours just fyi

Deceit was sat down at the dining table as if he was made of porcelain. Maybe now since Patton had proven any one of them could break down over the events of the week, the others were probably concerned about Deceit.  
Because even with his flawed mindset, Patton _had_ been right.  
Deceit had been through the most this past week. His fading scars proved it.

He stared down at his hands, watching them shake, before clasping them tightly together. He’d rather not flaunt how broken he felt – especially not after _that._ Not that Patton _wasn’t_ allowed to feel that way – heavens no. But it felt… almost _tacky_ for Deceit to have a breakdown now as well.   
Deceit sighed. He _knew _that wasn’t the best way of thinking. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care as his eyes landed on Roman’s face, and a familiar pang of guilt squeezed his heart.   
He’d apologise to Roman properly when he woke up. just like he’d practiced to his sleeping face a dozen times over.  
But until then, he clasped his hands tightly and let his eyes fall on a point on the floor as he attempted to wrestle his thoughts into some semblance of quiet.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Patton was being shaken awake as a plate was placed down in front of Deceit, jolting him back to the present with a flinch.  
He frowned down at the plate – spaghetti – and turned to the person taking the seat next to him, which was Remus, who had a plate of something indescribable from the back of the fridge.   
“What time is it?” Deceit demanded, voice high.  
“It’s been… uh,” Remus glanced at Virgil, who came to sit at Deceit’s other side. “Like, an hour or two, right? It’s almost 5.”  
“Yeah,” Virgil confirmed as Deceit’s gaze fell to the table.  
“Fuck,” Deceit said, voice distant in his own ears. “Really?”  
Remus glanced at him, before looking at Virgil with concern – and almost confusion.  
Virgil offered his hand to Deceit, and Dee latched on immediately, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.   
“I’m a mess,” he hissed out. “God, I’m _such_ a fucking mess. It’s been an hour? I thought it’d been a few minutes.”  
“Ah,” Virgil murmured. “I feel that. It’s fine, Dee. Nothing happened.”  
“That’s not the _point,”_ Deceit muttered back, drawing his hand back and fumbling for cutlery.   
Virgil’s shoulders fell.   
“I know,” he murmured back. “Sorry.”  
Deceit pinched the bridge of his nose.  
“Don’t apologise,” he ordered. “God, you’ll sound like _me.”_  
That drew a thin laugh out of Virgil, even as the others joined them at the table, and Deceit found himself looking down at Patton, who sat at the opposite end, and he raised his eyebrow in quiet, questioning concern.  
Patton nodded silently with a grateful little smile, before asking the same noiseless question back.  
_Are you okay?_  
Deceit pursed his lips, not really sure if he had the emotional wherewithal to keep lying about this so much – ironic, he supposed. So he tilted his head from side to side in a way that meant neither yes nor no.  
Patton’s lips quirked to the side in understanding, and he nodded again, small. Deceit felt everyone’s eyes on him, and he shrugged, tiny and idle, before dropping his head and eating.

He wasn’t hungry, he decided, was half the problem. He spent most of the meal shoving the pasta around his plate with a fork, trying not to think about how little he had actually eaten recently, and letting Remus take his plate for him when the side got up from the table, excusing himself quickly, because Deceit could read the set of his shoulders, and that Remus was convinced the awkward tone of the dinner was because of him.  
It was because of _Deceit,_ but go off, he guessed.  
Virgil finished as well, slipping out of his seat to join Remus in the kitchen, and Deceit glanced over his shoulder to see them talking quietly, a quip from Virgil bringing a soft smile to the duke’s face, and Deceit turned back to his clasped hands with a fleeting glimpse of contentment fluttering through him, which he tried to capitalise on as much as possible.   
He saw movement, and his head snapped up to see Patton and Logan rising from their seats with empty plates, looking at him with various levels of concern.  
“Deceit?” Logan asked softly. “Are you alright?”  
Deceit smiled, a proper, full, _convincing_ smile that didn’t reach his eyes at all.   
“I-”   
His voice cut out with a rough crack, and Deceit turned his head to cough, human side of his face flushing.  
“I… will be,” he settled on saying.   
Not a lie, he told himself as he tried to smile again. A promise.  
Still, it didn’t do anything to alleviate concern, but Deceit simply rose to his feet gracefully and smiled once again, nodding to them as he walked past – almost gliding, rolling through his feet like a ballroom dancer, controlling his movements in a way that he hoped made it looked like he had grips on the situation, which he most certainly did _not._

He made it to the couch, and delicately picked off his embroidery ring off the coffee table. He needlessly smoothed it over with a brush of his hand, like it would clear the image more. He just wanted it to be done. He wanted this whole thing to be done.  
He sat down, it only struck him a moment later that he’d sat down on the floor rather than to sofa. That was okay. He was closer to the spindles of thread he needed.   
And thus, Deceit tied off the soft, spring green he’d been working with, and traded it out for the…  
His hand wandered between the blue and the brown. Tree or pond first?  
He went for the brown, so he could get the tree and the park bench out of the way.  
Working colour by colour was logical, he reminded himself. Going at it as a process helped reached completion in a methodical, sensible way.   
He threaded his needle and set about working, falling into a fast and steady rhythm that came from years of practice.  
He let his hands work, and tried not to let his gaze or his mind wander, mostly to the prince in the corner, who was still, as far as he knew, as dead as a doornail.   
Deceit swallowed hard past the thought, blinking down at his needlework, and without really thinking too hard, another pair of his arms wrapped around himself tightly, trying to ground himself as he continued to stitch.   
He found himself hugging himself, another pair of hands on his knees as he blinked blankly down at his craft, and suddenly jolted it away the moment he felt wet on his face before he could stain anything.   
Really, Deceit? He found himself sneering as he tried to wipe his face dry on his shoulder. More tears?  
There was a body beside him, someone standing over him who crouched next to him and offered a hand, and Deceit went fumbling for it, and Remus squeezed his hand and pressed a tiny little kiss into his knuckles.  
“Speak to me, Dee,” he cooed, and his voice was discordant, yet strangely calm. “What’s wrong?”  
“Roman…” Deceit stammered, and immediately felt a stab of guilt at how Remus flinched under him. “I’m sorry, Remus. I-I’m _sorry,_ but he’s… he’s _alive,_ right? I didn’t… I haven’t… he’s alive, right?”  
He forced himself to turn to Remus and forced himself to meet those dark eyes glittering with confusion and hurt and grief and jealousy and pity and understanding and all sorts of other things Deceit couldn’t name.  
“I-it…” Deceit tried to pull his hand back. “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t killed him. He’s fine. He’ll wake up in a moment. It’s fine. You all are fine. I’m fine. We’re going to be _fine,_ Remus. Let me go, your grace. Please, because nothing’s wrong.”  
Remus’ grip on his hand tightened.  
“You’re not okay,” he noted, his voice low and growly.  
“I am,” Deceit lied, because at the end of the day, what else could Deceit do?  
“I’ll check for you,” Remus said, rising to his feet and letting Deceit slip his hand out of his. “I’ll check that Roman’s alive. Intrusive thoughts are better if you can disprove them. I’ll check for you.”  
Intrusive thoughts.   
He nearly forgot this…_thing_… had a name.  
Ironic, seeing who he lived with.  
As Deceit blinked long and hard and tried not to flinch as the sight of Roman, backlit by those terrifying flames that licked up their backs and arms as the prince clung to him and pulled him away flashed in the darkness of his closed eyes, scarred into his memory as an image to fill the blank. Remus made his way across the room to his silent brother. He sent a few glances off to the side, and a moment later, Logan was there, and they were pressing fingers to throats and checking breathing and temperatures and they returned to kneel beside Deceit and inform him of Roman’s vitals and how he was in fine shape and no, he was nowhere near dead.  
“What if he’s dying somehow else?” Deceit blurted, and he had to set down his craft project because his hands were shaking too much now. “What if it’s heartbreak? What if it’s something weirder? It’s not heartbreak. I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to him, he would have to, …to _love_ me for that, wouldn’t he? And, ahahah,” Deceit tilted his head back and gasped for air. “Oh, that’s a funny joke, isn’t it? I’m killing him. I know it.”  
“You’re not,” Remus growled, and he was taking the three of Deceit’s hands he could reach between his two, and Logan followed his lead, Deceit flinched at the contact.   
“I’m sorry,” Deceit heard himself gasp out. “I’m sorry.”  
There was a rush of _cold_, that felt familiar, and _almost_ terrifying.  
Before Deceit could place it, there was a cold pressure either side of his head. …Almost like cold fingertips pressing into his temples.  
The nasty feelings, the terror, the grief, all left him in a rush, and he found himself slumping forward in _exhaustion_ as the lights flared bright, before all he wanted to do was close his eyes and slip off into unconsciousness.

As Deceit slumped forward, Logan’s head snapped towards _Virgil_, who was standing over Deceit now, withdrawing his now-shaking hands, eyes widening and chest beginning to heave as a panic attack started to set in, and Virgil was bolting from the room and up the stairs before anyone could register quite what had happened, Logan only spurred into movement at the sound of a slammed door, chasing Virgil up the stairs as Remus carefully cradled a now-passed-out Deceit in his arms, whispering quiet thanks Anxiety wouldn’t hear under his breath.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil has a panic attack and then there's a bunch of kissing lmao

Virgil was in his bed, under the covers, shaking and sobbing as quietly into his pillow as he possibly when Logan pushed his already ajar door open more.  
“Virgil,” Logan called. “You-”  
Virgil cut him off with a loud gasp, light from outside catching him in the face and Logan watched his pupil shrink, before burrowing under the covers more, and Logan took the hint and shut the door, letting the dim room’s gloom engulf them.  
Already, he could feel the jittery overflow of anxiety pooling in the base of his throat, but Logan made himself cross the room and sit on Virgil’s bed, very careful not to touch him.  
He started to speak. Talking through breathing exercises, recounting useful information such as the Yerkes-Dodson curve, even listing of some constellations, or Patton’s favourite cake recipe which Logan knew by heart. He talked, giving something for Virgil to zone in on, to focus on, and constantly looping back to the breathing exercises, until Virgil had finally fallen still under the covers. Logan gently tugged back the blankets to see Virgil snuggling into a pillow, eyelids drooping.  
“M’sorry,” he mumbled out. “’Was the only way I could help ‘im.”  
“What did you do?” Logan wondered, more thinking out-loud than expecting an answer as he gently brushed hair out of Virgil’s face.  
Virgil blushed, something Logan almost missed in the dark, but didn’t protest to Logan’s touch.  
“I took his…” he cut himself off with a yawn.  
Logan brushed Virgil’s hair again, more as a soothing motion than out of necessity.  
“You need some sleep?”  
Virgil’s eyes drooped shut even as he fought to answer, though he tried to shake his head.  
“It’s okay,” Logan smiled, trying to stay calm even as he could practically feel the build-up of eyeshadow under his eyes and his vision might begin to blur soon. “Shall I leave you to have a nap?”  
Virgil went to argue, before just nodding.  
“Alright,” Logan said, and quickly lent down and placed a kiss on Virgil’s forehead before either of them really realised what he was doing. “Sleep.”  
He stood and crossed the room; he didn’t want to _run_ but he’d reached his limit of being in Virgil’s room, and well, his hands were shaking and he was sure Virgil would understand. So he watched Virgil’s head fall to the pillow and his eyes slip closed before he closed the door firmly and left, shaking out his hands to try and taking deep, repetitive breaths.

Footsteps, hurried but measured, climbed the stairs, and Patton emerged with two mugs in his hands, Logan’s on geometric-patterned black and blue, and Virgil’s thunderstorm-themed purple one.  
“Oh!” Patton exclaimed, and the relief in Patton’s voice did more to calm Logan than the forced breathing control, if he was being honest. “Logan! I-I made you guys tea. Well, I made Virgil a hot chocolate, like he likes, but, uh, here’s your tea.”  
Patton quickly yet carefully closed the gap, and pressed Logan’s mug into his hands, eyes lingering on Logan’s face, evaluating the state of the eyeshadow.  
“You okay?” he murmured.  
“I’m alright,” Logan responded with a wry smile. “Just… anxious.”  
Patton tried to smother the smile that wanted to rise, biting his lip to keep it down and looking away when he failed.  
“Is Virge okay?”  
Logan rubbed his face, and made a sound of distress when his fingertips came back smudged with black.  
“Uh, he’s…”  
Logan glanced towards Virgil’s closed door.  
“Asleep,” was how he finished. “He was exhausted when his panic attack ended.”  
“It’s only just ended?” Patton echoed in shock. “Logan, it’s been an hour.”  
Logan stared at the floor.  
“I tried,” was what he said. “I did try to help him, Patton.”  
“Oh, I know!” Patton rushed, linking his arm with Logan’s as Logan took a slow sip of his tea. “I didn’t mean it like that! Oh, no, no, no! I just… it was an expression of concern. That’s such a long time. For both of you.”  
Logan rubbed his face again as a futile attempt to remove more of the eyeshadow. It’d fade in its own time.  
“It was not… out of the ordinary, for such a thing,” he said, but his voice shook and he had that unnerving feeling that Patton was looking straight through him.  
“Lo,” Patton said.  
There it was.  
Logan cleared his throat and Patton took his hand, his made his heart leap metaphorically in his chest in a most wonderfully awful way that he was not supposed to be feeling. Especially _now._ He was so confused. Confused by Deceit, and the way they fell asleep beside each other on the sofa and he woke up in Deceit’s embrace. Confused by Remus and his spontaneous hugs, the way Remus would engage the more…_ different_ parts of his knowledge and press prickly-sweet kisses into his shoulder. Confused by the way Virgil blushed under his maintenance, and his dark eyes that glittered like those stars he was so fond of. Confused by Roman and how he wasn’t waking up, and how he needed to make sure he was okay and goddammit, he needed to apologise for that last argument they had the day before the whole thing happened, he needed to apologise.  
And just…  
Confused by the concerned crinkle in Patton’s brow, the soft curve of his lips, the warmth of his hand, the _care_ and _love_ this side radiated and…  
Logan squeezed Patton’s hand tightly and choked back what might’ve been a sob.  
“I hate seeing you upset,” Patton said softly, leading Logan to the side of the corridor and sitting the both of them down, backs against the wall, setting Virgil’s mug aside. “Is there any way I help you?”  
Logan stared, at the way Patton’s hair was framing his face, at the liquidy-shine of his eyes, of the gentle weight of Patton’s other hand on his bicep as Patton tried to reassure him, and something warm and so terribly wonderful swelled up in his throat.  
“Patton,” he gasped out, unable to look away, and there might’ve been a tear that spilled over but Patton was quick to brush it away. “Patton, what does love feel like?”  
Patton jolted, almost snatching his hand away at the suddenness of the question, the unexpectedness of the question.  
“Is it supposed to be confusing?” Logan continued, extracting his hand from Patton’s as he took the flinch as a cue to let go, setting his tea aside as well. “Is it supposed to feel so good and bad at the same time?”  
Patton’s hands hovered, and the look of shock on Patton’s face hadn’t worn off yet.  
“Is it supposed to be for things you shouldn’t’ve have?” Logan continued, and he didn’t need a mirror to see it; his eyeshadow was darkening again as he seemed to reach a state of heightened anxiety for the second time that day. “Is it supposed to be painful when you try and distance yourself from it?”  
“Logan,” Patton choked out.  
“Patton,” Logan gasped in return.  
Their hands found each other.  
“I’m sorry,” Patton said, and Logan frowned at him in confusion.  
“Whatever for?” he demanded. “There’s nothing to forgive. Patton… I should apologise, this outburst is unseemly.”  
“I’m sorry,” Patton repeated, his voice thick, and his hand had come up to Logan’s cheek to cup it, and avoid Logan looking away, “that I have set this… precedent, I guess, where I’m the only one “allowed” to talk about emotions like I’m the only one who has them.”  
Logan tried to stumble out a rebuttal.  
“That’s not the case at all-”  
“What I’m trying to say,” Patton interrupted, a spark of something, something passionate in his eyes that made Logan trail off into silence. “Is I’m sorry, because I should’ve discussed this with you before. You shouldn’t’ve have to struggle with feelings alone. Especially _these_ ones.”  
Patton sat back, taking his hands and soft touches with him and Logan found himself immediately missing the warmth.  
“It’s messy,” Patton confirmed, linking his fingers and staring down at his hands like they were showing him something.  
“It’s messy, and confusing, and so good, and so bad, and cruel, and beautiful, and it _hurts,_ but also? It’s the best you might ever feel in your life.”  
Logan looked down into his own lap and nodded along, because… that felt right. That sounded like the humming mess of emotions figuratively buzzing in his chest.  
“And you can choose to act on them or not,” Patton continued, and his voice sounded distant, his eyes unfocussed. “And sometimes you have those feelings for more than one person. And you’re not sure what to do.”  
Logan’s heart was in his throat as he turned to watch Patton.  
“Because… well, are you supposed to do that? There’s nothing wrong with loving more than one person, right? But what if the other people don’t think that? What if…”  
Patton gasped for air, bringing himself back into the moment, and clapped his hand over his mouth.  
Logan was there, peeling it away gently.  
“Sometimes,” Logan continued, “if we shall continue to speak in such a way, you have to take a moment to realise that sometimes, the other people are willing to love you… as well. In addition. Whatever the correct way is to put it. And the other people do… love you. A lot. And don’t know what to do about that.”  
Patton’s eyes were shining.  
“And the other person might feel very confused about _everyone_,” Logan continued, it babbling out of him because, well, Patton understood how this worked, didn’t he? “And he doesn’t know what to do, but right now, he would _very_ much like to kiss you.”  
Patton wet his lips and swallowed hard.  
“I think…” he whispered, slowly leaning forward, slipping his hand around Logan’s shoulder to rest on the back of his neck in a comforting, warm weight Logan associated with the man beneath him, “you might be very happy with that outcome.”  
Logan cracked a tiny smile.  
“I think I might,” he hummed, and he reached up to guide Patton’s face towards his and gently, softly, as gently as Patton deserved, placed a kiss on his lips.

It was sweet. It was lingering. It was a tingling bloom of warmth that had Logan almost melting into Patton as Patton pulled him in closer, practically into his lap, brow creasing with intensity as finally, _finally_, he had Logan where he wanted him and he didn’t plan on letting go.  
In that wonderful, glorious moment, nothing existed but Logan’s lips against his, and the way Logan’s shoulders tensed as he leant in more, seeking _more_ and Patton was willing to give it to him.  
It was beautiful, for a moment.  
And then Patton couldn’t help but remember how Virgil had kissed him, and how Virgil was asleep in the other room, and he could feel how Logan reacted, pulling away to ask him if everything was alright when a door opened, and looking down on them with sleepy, confused eyes that were bordering on morphing into hurt, and those tears Patton had been fending off started to slide down his cheeks as Logan scrambled to his feet, already striding towards Virgil.  
Patton watched Virgil’s face fall, like this was inevitable, and Patton was scrambling to his feet, and opened his mouth in time for Logan to throw his arms around Virgil and gasp out “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”  
Virgil’s arms automatically went around Logan’s waist.  
“It’s fine,” he muttered, and it was bitter, but not angry. “I should’ve known.”  
Logan was shaking his head, and fumbled out the start of a few sentences, rebuttals that he didn’t know how to form, before giving up with a _hmph_ of frustration and merely taking Virgil’s chin in his hand instead, thumb resting on Virgil’s lower lip, head tilting in silent question.  
Virgil’s eyes widened, his lips parted to gasp, and in that moment of awe, he’d never looked more beautiful.  
“Me…?” he breathed, eyes searching Logan’s for something, _anything._ “Are you sure?”  
“I’m more than sure,” Logan smiled. “May I?”  
Virgil, in lieu of replying, grabbed Logan’s shirt by the fistful and dragged him closer, pulling him into a kiss.

It was electrifying. There was some level of icy desperation under the burning heat of it. Something so different that had Logan groaning as Virgil pulled him in tight and refused to let go, no less loving than Patton, no less wonderful, beautiful.  
When Virgil pulled away for air, Logan was left panting in his arms.  
Patton was there, wrapping his arms around the two of them too.  
“Is this okay?” he asked Virgil, and Virgil reached up with the end of his sweater looped over his hand to dry Patton’s tears with the fabric, smiling most tenderly.  
“Yeah…” he said, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss Patton; a most fleetingly brief kiss but no less magical; and he smiled in a way Logan hardly got to see. “I think it is.”  
Logan leant forward to kiss his cheek.  
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for letting me…”  
_Letting me in. Letting me kiss you. Letting me love you. Letting me letting me letting me letting me_  
Virgil kissed him again, and Patton pressed a kiss into his temple at the same time, and both laughed as Logan melted under the affection.  
“Don’t need to thank us,” Patton murmured.  
“Love you,” Virgil was already mumbling into Logan’s lips. “Both of you. Love you.”  
“Love you too,” Patton replied.  
Logan opened his mouth, flushed red, and closed his mouth again.  
“Shall we take it as understood?” Virgil offered with a smile, ducking his head to catch Logan’s eye as Logan tried to look away.  
Logan nodded silently, unable to fend of the tiny grin blooming on his face.  
“Aw,” Patton cooed, “you’re implying that you love us.”  
Logan laughed a little at that, and there, sandwiched between Patton’s steady warmth and Virgil’s ever-present cool, he felt at home.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brotherly bonding even tho one's kinda unconscious, and then some demus for the soul

Remus was sitting on the sofa, Deceit’s head in his lap, watching Roman intensely as he waited for Patton to come back downstairs. His fingers tapped out a rhythmless pattern on the arm of the couch. His other hand carded through Deceit’s hair, feeling the softness under his fingers and trying to keep himself occupied.  
He couldn’t help but stare at Roman’s face, idly noting the sound of laughter from upstairs.  
“C’mon, Roman,” someone said.   
It took Remus an extra moment to realise that that _someone_ was him.  
He couldn’t help but sigh heavily, head rolling back so he could stare up at the ceiling instead.  
“Wake up, Roman,” he said, idly, almost like an afterthought, as if he was trying to convince himself he didn’t care. “You’re making everyone worry.”  
There was a beat of silence.  
“Not me, of course,” Remus filled in the empty air with a nervous laugh. “I couldn’t care whether you woke up or not. I hope you don’t.”  
There was a beat of silence.  
“That’s a lie.”  
Silence.  
“You knew that, though. You always seem to know. Come on, Roman. Please wake up. I…”  
Remus found himself sitting up, looking over at his brother with his lips twisted in such a way to keep himself from crying.   
“I… might, a-and mind you, this is a big _might,_ …miss you.”   
Remus’ face fell.  
“A lot,” he tacked on. “God damn it, Roman. I miss you. Please wake up.”  
He watched Roman’s face shift, watched his brow furrow a little, and it looked like Roman really was fighting to wake.  
This must’ve been what Patton had been talking about, the other night.  
“You can do it,” Remus egged him on, the hand in Deceit’s hair speeding his motions as he tried to keep his voice down. “Come on, Roman! You have to come back. I-I can’t do this without you. I’m nothing without you. Wake up, brother.”  
“You’re not nothing without him,” a sleepy voice contradicted him, and Remus flinched as Deceit shifted his weight in order to sit up. “You’re Remus.”  
“I’m…” Remus closed his eyes, and thus didn’t see how Roman managed to open his – just barely – with a look of pain on his face that looked just like how it felt in Remus’ chest. “Yeah, sure.”  
He opened his eyes to see Roman’s, barely cracked open and misty with exhaustion and grief, meet his for a heartbeat, his lips ghosting the shape of some incomprehensible word, before Roman’s eyes slipped closed again, sending him slumping back into the seat.  
“…Brother?”  
Remus was out of his seat and over Roman in the blink of an eye, fumbling to take his hand, eyes wide as he studied Roman’s face, all the life gone out of his brother in a rush.  
“Oh…” he breathed, cupping his brother’s face to tilt his head, getting a good look at the bags under Roman’s eyes, the gauntness of his face. “You’re going to wake up, okay? You can fight it. Take your time.”  
There was an almost imperceivably small shift in Roman’s expression – one of relaxation.   
“Yeah,” Remus said, “I got this. We all even kinda _like_ each other now! We’re just waiting for you. And we’ll wait as long as we need to.”  
He shook his head with a huffing laugh.   
“You really overdid it, huh?” he said, stepping back and tucking his hands away behind his back, tucking his hands _away_, tucking his hands away to keep everything safe. “You really went nuts on the whole ocean thing.”  
He heard Deceit gasp behind him, and that didn’t really register as important in that moment.  
“Wish I could’ve seen it,” Remus continued, biting his lip and trying to smile. “Wish I could’ve helped.”  
“There was not much anyone could’ve done,” Deceit whispered, and there was a soft rustle of fabric and then Deceit was there, taking Remus by the hand and leading him back to the sofa, away from Roman, and Remus… didn’t exactly want to go, if he was honest, but Deceit knew best. Deceit always knew best, so he followed.  
“It was so much, so bright, and then so dark. It was so fast. You just would’ve gotten swept away too,” Deceit told him, and it took Remus a moment to realise that there was still fear, bright and shining fear, in Dee’s eyes.   
“But I could’ve-”  
“You would’ve gotten hurt,” Deceit pushed on, talking over him, grasping his hands and pulling him close until he could rest his forehead against the duke’s, closing his eyes as he grimaced. “I can hardly stand the fact I got the others hurt as it is now. A-and Virgil nearly didn’t find me. Logan nearly didn’t save me. So many nearlies. And if I lost you too?”  
A tear slipped down his scales, glinting in the artificial light, and Remus found himself marvelling at the beauty of it.  
“It’d break me,” Deceit whispered, hoarse and broken. “It already has. I can’t do it, Rem. I can’t lose you too.”  
“They aren’t lost,” Remus whispered, wrapping his arms around Deceit and closing his eyes as well. “And… I’m here, Dee. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”  
He felt a set of arms wrap around his waist. Another set of hands clutched at his lapels, trying to pull Remus in closer like Deceit was half-convinced Remus was going to disappear right out of his grasp.   
Remus felt Deceit’s last pair of hands cup his head, preventing him from pulling back, and Remus couldn’t help but laugh fondly at that, because he would never in a million _years_ run away from Deceit.   
“I’m here,” he repeated, and felt Deceit’s grip tighten, felt Deceit flinch, heard a sob escape him, and Remus made the executive decision to close the final gap.

Deceit’s lips were far softer than he expected. They were soft and pliant and Deceit gasped at the contact, eyes snapping open in shock to meet Remus’ fire and feeling Remus smile against him and… _there_.   
There was the swell of _love_ in Deceit’s eyes. A swell that mirrored the thing that was rising in his chest to choke him in the base of his throat over how much he just fucking _loved_ Deceit, and Remus was _giggling¸_ of all things, and he fell backwards on the couch, dragging Deceit down on top of him, letting Deceit deepen the kiss and remind himself that he was not alone. That he was here, with Remus, and that Remus would wait. Remus would wait as long as he had to for the ones who deserved to be waited for.  
Deceit’s hands were in his hair, and his skin brushing against his moustache, and Remus didn’t let his eyes drift close because he didn’t want to miss a moment of this, and Deceit straddled his hips to get more comfortable as he pulled back for air.  
“Okay?” Remus asked as he panted, wanting to dive back in for more but he refused to push Deceit, refused to _hurt_ Deceit like everyone else seemed so good at doing.   
Remus was good at hurting things, but he refused to hurt Deceit.  
“Okay,” Deceit replied with a smile, his mismatched eyes shining with unshed tears and his voice thick with emotions as he leant back down to capture Remus’ chapped, dry lips with his own.  
And if he felt Deceit’s tears on his own cheeks as Deceit kissed him, well, that was their secret.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is sickeningly cute and has lots of like... petnames? in it? so if that makes u uncomfortable im sorry

It had been several, wonderful, comfortable, uncountable minutes before there was the creak of footsteps on stairs, and Deceit nearly rolled off the couch in his hurry to make this look more natural. Remus caught him, but ended up taking the two of them down, landing in a mess of limbs and laughter as they looked up to see Logan, Patton and Virgil, hand in hand, Virgil raising an eyebrow at them.  
“What did I miss?”  
“You missed-” Remus went to say when Deceit’s hand covered his mouth, cutting him off, before good-naturedly patting him on the cheek in quick apology.  
“You,” Deceit said, rising to his feet, composed as ever, eyebrow raised straight back, “promised me you weren’t going to do that anymore.”  
Virgil flinched, and subconsciously edged back up the stairs in a moment of _flight._  
“You were hurting,” he said softly, and it wasn’t missed how Virgil’s voice cracked. “I had to help you _somehow.”_  
“You have enough as it is,” Deceit crossed his arms, and his voice might have wobbled as well. “You didn’t need to take mine.”  
“Yeah,” Virgil said, inspecting the chewed skin around his fingernails rather than meeting Dee’s mismatched eyes, “but I bet you feel better.”  
“What’s going on?” Patton asked quietly, glancing between the two of them.  
“Virgil stole my anxiety,” Deceit snapped, staring him down.  
“It’s a thing I can do,” Virgil growled in response, rolling his eyes. “And you’re _welcome.”_  
Logan pursed his lips as they descended the stairs, Virgil’s grip on his hand so very tight.  
“And I know what it does to _you,”_ Deceit shouted, before catching himself, screwing his eyes closed tightly, and letting his breath leave him in a long hiss.  
“You didn’t have to,” he finished weakly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
“Are you kidding?” Virgil exclaimed, dropping his new boyfriends’ hands and storming over to Deceit, before throwing his arms around his neck, letting Deceit bury his head in Virgil’s shoulder. “I’d…”  
He swallowed hard.  
“I’d do it a thousand times for you, Dee,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can do this for you. Let me. There’s nothing else I’m good for.”  
Deceit shook his head with a soulful chuckle, before lifting his head and smiling up at Virgil.  
“Whilst I believe that last bit’s what we might call a _falsehood…_ thank you,” he murmured, “I hate to admit you’re right, but… I do feel like I’ve slept a week.”  
Virgil smirked.  
“Get the camera!” he told Remus loudly. “Deceit said I was right!”  
Remus scrambled off the floor, gasping dramatically, and snapped his fingers. In an instant, a positively ancient-looking camera appeared in his hands, and he quickly took a photo. The camera spat out a polaroid as Deceit hissed, trying to detangle himself from Virgil’s limbs in a frenzy.  
“Traitor!” he crowed, but the smile he was fighting off his face told a different story. “I can’t believe you’ve done this!”  
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Remus beamed down at the polaroid (which had developed far too quickly to be natural, but perhaps the plot should follow its lead.).  
He held it up to show Deceit squirming out of Virgil’s arms, clearly hissing as Virgil struggled to hold him at arms’ length, grinning a toothy smirk.  
“Poetry,” he sniffed, fake-tearing up.  
“Give me that!” Deceit lunged for him. “Don’t ruin my aesthetic!”  
Remus cackled at him, ducking under his outstretched arms, darting behind Logan and Patton for cover as Deceit tried to catch him.  
“Hey, Patty-Patty-Pat!” Remus chirped, grabbing Patton’s hand and placing the photo firmly in Patton’s grasp. “You like memories, right? Have a new one.”  
He then preceded to tackle Deceit before the side could make a lunge for Patton, tackling him straight onto the sofa with a _whump!_  
Deceit tried to squirm out from under him, laughing breathlessly, and before Remus could react, he seemed to give up, and pulled Remus in for a most sweet kiss.  
The duke melted into it, and then squawked in dismay as Deceit pushed him off the side of the sofa, leaping to his feet and making a beeline for Patton.  
“Give it to me!”  
“Betrayed!” Remus shouted from the floor, hand on his forehead. “Spurned! Used! Love is fake!”  
Patton held up his empty hands with an air of innocence, blinking his eyes rapidly.  
“What photo?” he said, pouting at Deceit.  
Deceit stared at him in shock. Which morphed into awe. Which morphed into a calculating play-frown.  
“Oh,” he said, low and dangerous. “I see how it is. I will remember this, Morality.”  
“Remember what, Deceit?” Patton rocked on his heels and smiled most sweetly at him. “I’d keep in mind there are others with tricks up their sleeves in this room.”  
“Oh,” Logan said breathlessly, and Deceit turned to see him looking at Patton in awe.  
He couldn’t fight back his laugh, reeling back as Patton saw Logan’s face and flushed bright red.  
“Uh,” Patton said.  
“Um,” Logan covered his face with a hand and turned away in embarrassment. “I just… didn’t expect that from you.”  
“Aw,” Patton cooed, taking Logan’s hand and stepping in close, face coloured with a most delightful smirk. “Is me being sneaky fun, Lo?”  
“Woah!” Remus called from the floor. “Just fuck already!”  
Logan went bright red, burying his head in his hands as he groaned loudly. Patton reeled back, doubling over as he cackled, struggling for air through his laughter.  
“I’m sorry,” he said as soon as he could, leaning in to plaster a kiss on Logan’s cheek. “Love you.”  
“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” Logan grumbled, trying to fight down the blush as he accepted the kiss with a sulky pout that was entirely faked. “Now, I need some more tea or I’ll go insane.”

They ended up around the table; Deceit in Remus’ lap Logan sitting flush with Patton so Patton could throw an arm around Logan’s shoulders, Virgil sitting at the head of the table with his ankles comfortably crossed with Patton’s, all nursing various hot drinks and snatching cookies off a communal plate Patton had set out.  
They all sat, and talked and laughed, and tried not to think about how much more livelier this could’ve been with Roman at the table.

Remus tried to make up for it. He really did, cracking jokes that weren’t really up his alley as an attempt to bring something familiar into the conversation, but Deceit ended up taking his shaking hand under the table and running his thumb soothingly across his knuckles.  
Logan rose to meet Remus, trying to be a bit more jovial, which, with all of the utmost respect to the darling nerd, just didn’t suit him, and him and Remus both deflated after a while.  
“Roman woke up for a few seconds again,” Deceit blurted after an hour. “Earlier.”  
“He did?!” came from all three of the others, all with excitement, with _hope._  
Remus wrapped an arm around Deceit’s waist and buried his head in Deceit’s shoulder.  
“He’s trying to wake up,” Remus murmured, cutting Deceit off, and Deceit let him, because it felt like Remus should say it. “He’s really trying. It’s exhausting, I don’t know what kind of state he fell into after he collapsed but he’s fighting to get back, and he’s close now. He’s trying really, _really_ hard.”  
“Can we help?” Virgil asked, wringing his hands and trying not to stare the duke down too intensely.  
“I don’t think so,” Remus said, and raised his head out of Deceit’s shoulder a little. His eyes were watery and dark. “I think we just need to wait ‘til he, like… gathers enough energy to break through that ceiling.”  
“That sounds dangerous,” Logan interjected, alarmed. “He should focus on waking up rather than property damage.”  
Remus stared at him for a beat, before he laughed. It wasn’t _mean,_ it was just a laugh of built up tension and fear and Logan said just the right thing to break that down.  
“It’s uhhh….” Remus spun his hand around, trying to thing. “Uh, word, babe?”  
“Metaphorical,” Deceit supplied.  
“I see,” Logan said.  
“Thanks!” Remus chirped.  
“Wait,” Deceit turned to look at him, “_babe?”_  
“Yeah, I can’t tell you how long it’d take, but he’s _definitely_ on the mend,” Remus continued, smiling at the relief on everyone’s faces, and how that raised a swell of pride in his chest.  
_He_ did that. _He_ found out good news, and told everyone the good news, and they were happy!  
He’d done _good._  
It felt good. He should do that more often.  
“No, back up, _dear,”_ Deceit said, and Remus tried not to splutter at that. “What did you call me?”  
“Uh?” Remus offered, smiling at Deceit as he went into Gay Crisis Mode at sound of the pet name on Deceit’s tongue. “Babe?”  
Deceit rolled his eyes at him, but pressed a kiss into Remus’ cheek none-the-less.  
“Okay, dear,” he said with a smile.  
Remus squeaked, and buried his head back into Deceit’s shoulder as Virgil laughed at him.  
“Oh, come now, Virgil,” Deceit smirked. “I’m sure you like pet names as much as the next person, stormcloud.”  
Virgil immediately flipped up his hood and nearly slammed his head into the table at the speed of which he tried to bury his head in his arms and hide, muttering obscenities as Patton squeaked in adoration.  
“Stormcloud!” he cooed. “That’s so cute! Oh gosh, I gotta remember that one.”  
“Thunder,” offered Logan.  
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Deceit crowed. “Now, now, thunder. You can come out.”  
Virgil glared up at Deceit with no fire, colour high on his cheeks.  
“Uh huh, moonstone?” Virgil shot back, and that done did indeed flushed Deceit’s human half of his face, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process that, trying to ignore how Remus giggled under him.  
“Surely, that one is more applicable to Logan,” he managed to say. “What do _you_ think, moonstone?”  
That got a far better reaction out of Logan, who twiddled with his tie and stared at the table, trying to formulate a witty response that just fell apart when Patton pulled him in to press kisses across his forehead.  
“Moonstone?” Patton tried out. “Just as pretty as your eyes, stardust.”  
“Stardust!” Deceit echoed. “Beautiful.”  
“Well, uh, that’s very nice, sunshine,” Logan shot back, watching Patton sit up straight for a heartbeat, wonder in his eyes, before just melting.  
“Oh that’s pretty,” he cooed softly.  
“Sunshine,” Logan repeated. “My daffodil.”  
“Daffodil’s nice,” Virgil agreed. “’Bout as bright as he is.”  
“Guys!” Patton cried, fanning his face, “you’re making me blush!”  
“Yes, I believe that’s the point,” Logan hummed, leaning his head against Patton’s shoulder.  
Deceit felt Remus squirm, and it took him a moment to realise he was _uncomfortable._  
Of course, it hit him. All this cutesy, _romantic_-y-ness.  
It was _Roman’s_ domain.  
Deceit lent back, pursing his lips as he let his head rest in the crook of Remus’ neck, looking up at the duke as he thought.  
“My…” he trailed off, trying to think, “my _heatlamp?”_  
As Remus smiled at that, Deceit shook his head.  
“That was weak,” he grumbled at himself.  
“Because you’re always so cold, and I warm you up,” Remus contemplated. “I like that.”  
“Raccoon,” Virgil offered, smiling at Remus and smiling even wider at the pleased, awed look that earned him, a soft blush (the first blush he’d ever seen on Remus, if he was honest) spreading across his face. “Because you live in the garbage.”  
“Aw!” Patton piled on. “Trash panda!”  
Remus bit his lip and glanced at Deceit, who was smiling at him fondly.  
“Trash panda,” he echoed softly, and Deceit felt him giggle more than he heard it.  
“Ferret?” Logan offered. “Rodent, of some variety.”  
“My dear rodent,” Deceit nodded, wrapping an arm around Remus’ shoulders.  
“Sounds like a terrible musical,” Remus laughed, but the blush was dark and his eyes were bright and he was leaning into Deceit with a most adoring smile on his face. “I like it.”  
He looked up at Deceit with his thinking face on, before shrugging, and leaning up to kiss him.  
“Thanks, snakeface.”  
Deceit bit back a laugh.  
“Descriptive,” he noted, ignoring the more confused looks from across the table. “Apt. Thank you, my dear.”  
“Snaker boy,” Remus continued, snorting at that one.  
“What?” Deceit shook his head, now lost.  
“He was a snaker boy,” Virgil quipped.  
“He said ‘see ya later,’ boy!” Patton filled in with a beam, happy to have caught up on the reference so quickly.  
Deceit laughed, and glanced at Logan, who rubbed his temples.  
“Oh, come on, meteor belt, this is by best work!” Remus pouted jokingly, earning a little smile out of Logan, who raised an eyebrow that made Remus _weak._  
“He’s so pretty,” he whispered in Deceit’s ear dreamily, before jolting, like he just remembered who he was talking to, and the relevance of that. “Uh, I, uh, mean, not as much as you! Uh-”  
“It’s okay,” Deceit hushed, leaning his head against Remus’. “I think he’s gorgeous too. Maybe we should talk with Logan later.”  
Remus’ eyes dropped to the table, flitted over to Virgil’s, who seemed to smile knowingly at him even though he was confident the others didn’t hear this exchange over Patton’s laughter, and he closed his eyes as he leant back against Deceit in something Deceit might almost label as content.  
“Yeah,” he whispered, soft and gentle. “That might be nice.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, around the table, tossing barbs and nicknames and compliments and explanations and stories at each other until their mugs were empty and the plate of cookies was consumed. After another half-hour, Patton stretched widely, fighting back a yawn, and leant to his left to place a kiss on Virgil’s lips, and then to his right, to place a kiss on Logan’s, before standing.  
“I should get dinner started,” he said with a smile, and Deceit was rising to his feet as well.  
“Let me help,” Deceit offered, kissing Remus on the top of his head as apology for standing, and brushing his hand across Virgil’s shoulders as he passed. He smiled at Logan, and was in the process of beginning to follow Patton when-  
Something caught his eye.  
Something under the couch that he only saw looking in Logan’s direction.  
Something that looked white. And fabric-y. And a lot like a handful of cotton squares that had been kicked under there as a second thought of a hiding spot.  
Deceit was pushing past Patton, eyes locked on those _damn scraps of fabric_, and it seemed maybe people were saying his name, people were calling out to him, but he’d already fallen to his knees, scrabbling under the sofa to retrieve his _failures,_ rising to his feet as his eyes traced the charred edges and the roar of fire filled his ears.

After all that. After everything of the past week, after everything he’d done, here it all was. Still here. Mocking him. _Humiliating him_.  
A darker, wet spot appeared on one of the scraps, and Deceit off-handedly filed away the information that he’d started crying. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.  
Someone touched him. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and tried to take the scraps from him but Deceit snarled something incomprehensible, almost _animalistic,_ and backed away, back hitting the wall before he knew it, breathing going ragged as that light blue stitching taunted him, the words making his skin crawl because after this, after _all this_, they were right, weren’t they? These words were the truth. He was good for nothing, he was cruel and evil and a liar, such a good liar that he’d convinced them he was a good person, and his hands were shaking and his vision blurring and all Deceit could do was throw the fabric to the ground and try to grind it into the carpet under his heel, putting his entire bodyweight into it, skin flaring with the ghost of flames licking across his arms, his back.  
He was sick of it.  
He was sick of hurting  
He was _sick_ of being mocked, being hated, being ridiculed, being _lied to._  
Someone tried to catch his hands again, and the warmth almost felt familiar, but Deceit wrenched his hands back with a _hiss_ because _don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t _touch me!  
And he scooped up those damn fucking scraps of cross stitching, glaring at them so hard with enough hatred he almost hoped they’d spontaneously combust in his hands.  
There was a moment of silence, that even managed to permeate his panic attack, and then  
they _did._

The cotton in his grasp burst into tiny, controlled flame, barely scathing his glove and causing Deceit to jump back, staring down at the puddle of ashes in his palms, not comprehending, before he managed to regain enough of his senses to look up, asking who did it, was it you, Remus?  
But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t.  
The air rushed out of his lungs, and Deceit swung around, spilling ash everywhere as  
there, across the room, arm outstretched and swaying on his feet, but determinedly, _miraculously_ awake,  
was Roman.


	17. Chapter 17

It was a very safe assumption to make, if you were to say that Roman had no idea what was going on.  
He knew a handful of things. He knew that he and Deceit, and then the rest of his family had gotten caught up in a man-imagined natural disaster or two. He knew he’d overdone it the moment that wave materialised on the horizon. He could feel the twinge in his gut, the way he nearly dropped to his knees then and there. But… he could afford to do that. So he didn’t.

He knew that he had been unconscious for a very long time. He remembered the sharp stench of antiseptic, how Logan had helped him, bandaged him and left him in Roman’s favourite armchair downstairs, and then… he didn’t know anything for a while.

He did remember voices.

He remembered Deceit. He remembered countless apologies, practiced again and again until it was nearly perfect, and remembered fighting to wake up for each one of them, trying to soothe the dear, it was okay.

He remembered Patton. He remembered Patton kneeling beside him clutching his hand, and he remembered trying to wake up for him because Patton was right, change was hard, and what a big change it must’ve been for Patton to be reduced to this.

He remembered Remus. He remembered his brother’s broken voice, begging him to wake, something that might’ve been _I can’t do this without you_ and he _fought._ He fought to wake up, and fought to stay conscious as long as possible and Remus… had seen. Remus had noticed in a way that only a twin can. He remembered a hand on his face, and a comforting promise to wait.  
And so Roman had drifted, trying to gather himself, trying to find the perfect time where waking could be permanent. But then he heard raised voices.  
And Roman decided he had gotten sick of making people wait.

So, no, Roman didn’t know what was going on, but as he forced his eyes open – fully open and blinked himself furiously awake – he heaved himself up onto his feet. His muscles ached, his joints groaned, but his wounds were gone, not even scarred, and that was Roman’s first clue as to how long he was out.  
He brushed blankets aside (where did they come from?), and tried not to topple over as the world swam around him and a rush of white noise filled his ears.  
Tears prickled in his eyes. It was hard to breathe.  
What was going on?  
_What happened?_

There were voices. Roman finally heard voices over the roar in his ears and snapped his head up to see _everyone_ there, but their attention was all on one side.  
Deceit.

Deceit who had his back up against the wall, snarling and shaking, and was clutching several white scraps of fabric.  
Roman squinted as gears started to turn in his head.  
The fabric thingies. He’d _seen_ those before.  
He blinked, and in the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw Deceit. Backlit by fire, reaching into his pocket and throwing those scraps of fabric towards the flames.  
He opened his eyes, a snarl of effort painted across his face, and extended an arm, pointing his index finger and  
_poof.  
_Up in _very controlled_ flames they went.

It was then that the room was silent. People looked to Remus for a split second before Deceit snapped around in a whirl of ash and  
“Roman!”  
He was running towards him, the most glowing joy Roman’d ever seen on his face, and it was all Roman could do to extend his arms and let Deceit throw himself at him and the room spun around them enough for Roman to end up on his knees with armfuls of Deceit and he wasn’t exactly sure how he got there, but Deceit was sobbing, clutching at his jacket and begging like a broken record, over and over, for forgiveness.  
“Dee,” Roman whispered, voice rough with lack of use. “It’s okay.”  
Deceit froze, and looked up at him with such wide, watery eyes that Roman could only smile fondly.  
“I’m sorry,” he continued softly, reaching up and brushing Deceit’s hair out of his eyes. “You helped me, and I yelled at you and then I made you catch us on fire.”  
“I hurt you,” Deceit snapped back, catching Roman’s face in his hands to glower at him. “The trial, _god,_ I’m so sorry for the trial. You’ve been unconscious for six days, Roman! That’s my fault!”  
Roman was shaking his head, wrapping his arms around Deceit and found himself caught between tears and laughter.  
“I dumped on ocean on us where _literally any other idea_ would’ve worked,” he countered. “It’s purely my fault I fucked myself over, honestly. Right, Remus?”  
“Yep!” Remus crowed, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulders and winking roguishly(?) at him. “Gotta learn your limits!”  
“It’s okay, Dee,” Roman whispered, voice dropping, and in that moment he forgot everyone else was there, brushing a thumb over Deceit’s bottom lip and smiling softly at the shaky huff of air that elicited. “I promise. I’m awake. The thingy-ma-doo-hickers, and I don’t _need_ to know what they were because that information is yours, are burned. Everyone’s okay. I hear you’ve snogged my brother, if I was conscious enough for that bit.”  
Deceit flushed red as there was laughter from somewhere; loud, booming and familiar laughter that had Roman chuckling along.  
“I might’ve,” Deceit raised an eyebrow in that way Roman had missed ever so much. “And I wonder if he’d mind if I went for a matching set…?”  
“Get ‘em, Dee-Dee!” came a hoot.  
“Woo!” came another, and Roman wasn’t in the frame of mind to figure out who that was yet.  
And then all other thoughts were frozen in place as Deceit finally _kissed him._

There was _applause.  
_Well, if the curtains were up, Roman was going to give a _show_, goddamnit.  
He slipped a hand behind Deceit’s head, tilting Deceit’s head back and deepening the kiss in such a way that tore a _groan_ out of the man in his arms, that caused Deceit’s fingers to slip into his hair and tug ever so slightly and for Deceit to wrap another pair of arms around his middle and oh, Roman had wanted this for a while, he’d _waited_ for this for a while, and by the time Deceit was pulling back for air, Roman was dizzy and the world was spinning and he just couldn’t stop _smiling_ as he captured Deceit’s hand and put it over his heart.  
“Thank you,” he said softly, and now, he looked up to the others, who were all standing around them, so _happy,_ happy to see _him._ “For waiting for me.”  
Patton and Logan were at his sides in a heartbeat, arms around them too, and Deceit looked uncomfortable for a moment before Logan leant over and placed a kiss on his cheek as Patton kissed Roman, and Roman laughed, chasing Patton’s retreating head to return the favour.  
“We’d wait a thousand years for you,” Patton said.  
“Well,” Logan frowned, “a thousand seems to be a very large overstatement, as we cannot surpass _death.”_  
“Metaphor,” Patton smiled.  
Logan hunched his shoulders with a nervous smile.  
“Of course,” he mumbled. “A-and I would ask you to note that if it were in my power to surpass death in order to make sure you were alive, Roman, that I _would_ indeed do that.”  
When Logan looked up to meet Roman’s eyes, his face dropped as he saw now, Roman was on the verge of tears.  
“Roman?” he said in alarm, a hand on Roman’s bicep.  
“It’s okay!” Roman gasped, trying to rub his face dry before anyone freaked out, face bright red and doing his best to talk through a mix of laughter and tears. “It’s just… the nicest and most romantic thing anyone’s said to me!”  
“Oh, _please,”_ Remus said, from where he and Virgil were still hovering, and he trust-fell into Virgil’s arms dramatically. “These _nerds_ are going to shower you with love now you’ve said that.”  
Roman went to protest.  
Deceit stole his words away with another kiss.  
“He’s right, you know.”  
Roman giggled at that, pressing Deceit’s hand into his cheek and looking up at them with adoring eyes.  
“You _are_ nerds,” he smiled, and Patton darted in to brush away the one tear that loosed itself, rolling down Roman’s cheek. “And goddamnit, you’re _my_ nerds.”  
“I call dibs on Deceit, Lo-lo and Virgil!” Remus hollered, immediately turning the tables on Virgil in a flurry of movement and suddenly, Virgil was in the duke’s arms, clutching alarmedly at his sash to keep him from falling (unnecessarily, because Remus’ grip was very steady).  
“What?” Virgil laughed, glancing up at Remus’ bright smile, before glancing towards Patton and Logan, a tentative question in his eyes.  
Patton smiled. Logan nodded.  
“If it makes you happy,” Patton said, and Logan made an affirmative noise in his throat.  
Virgil smiled, a bright, wonderful smile that they hardly saw on him, before he grabbed a wide-eyed Remus by the gaudy collar and a “c’mere,” and dragged him down in a kiss of their own.  
Roman cheered them on, and laughed as Patton shut him up with a good natured pat on the cheek.  
“C’mon dear,” Patton said, addressing the group of people in his arms. “We need to have breakfast.”  
“Oh my god,” Roman gasped, letting everyone help him up as his knees tried to give way on him (just to keep him on his toes). “Breakfast! Oh _please.”_  
  


* * *

It didn’t take long for the figurative dust to settle. In fact, it didn’t take long at all for everyone’s different routines and habits to integrate into the larger schedule of the day. No one was left alone. No one was left behind. No one was left to their own devices.  
Finally, they were a family. A proper, happy, family.

There was laughter.  
There was kisses.  
There was love.  
And… you know what?  
For all of them,  
It was more than enough.


End file.
